"Marie, my little one, you are going to be as beautiful as your mother. Isn't she, Duchess?"

Smiling, Duchess looked up across the open carriage at her little girl. Marie was such a pretty child. She'd inherited her own pale blonde curls and blue eyes, though Duchess rather thought Marie would turn out far more beautiful than she was. The girl preened at the praise; she was rather spoiled by their benefactress, but Duchess could hardly be angry about that. Madame Adelaide Bonfamille unfailing kindness toward her and her three children still amazed her even after all these years.

"Careful, Toulouse!" Madame's cry directed her attention toward her young son. Toulouse had begged to be allowed to sit in the driver's seat with Edgar, Madame's longsuffering butler, and was now practically standing in his seat. As he nearly toppled over into Edgar, Duchess reached out reflexively, but he simply plopped back down in his seat, looking like a model little gentleman aside from an impish grin.

Madame chuckled. "You're making it very difficult for Edgar!"

"Toulouse, you must stay in your seat or you will have to come back here with us," Duchess said with calm firmness.

"Oh, he's no trouble at all, Mademoiselle." Edgar smiled down at the boy. "Whoa, Frou-frou, whoa. Steady, girl." He reigned the horse in as they pulled up at the house.

Berlioz, the youngest of the three triplets, bounded out of the carriage and over to the horse. As he petted her muzzle, he solemnly said, "Thank you for the ride, Frou-frou." Duchess beamed at her son as she helped Marie down. His siblings often teased him for it, but Berlioz's sweet spirit truly warmed her heart. Of course, immediately the boy initiated the typical poking and pushing and sticking out of tongues he engaged in with Toulouse. Duchess sighed. If her children could go fifteen minutes without some kind of scuffle she considered it a relief.

"Ah, Madame, allow me to assist you." Edgar handed Madame down from the carriage. "May, I take your parcel? It really is much too heavy for you."

"Now, tut-tut, Edgar, don't fuss over me. Duchess, children, come along inside." As they all walked leisurely up the walk to the immaculate mansion, Madame's tone became business-like. "Now Edgar, I'm expecting my attorney, Georges Hautecourt-you remember him, of course."

"Of course, Madame. How could anyone forget him?"

Remembering Georges' last visit which ended with Edgar chasing him down the street to inform him that his pants had quite fallen down to his knees, Duchess exchanged glances with the butler and suppressed a laugh. She quickly grew somber again when she looked behind at her children and noticed two very fashionably dressed ladies on the other side of the street, staring at her with open disdain. Blushing, Duchess ushered her children inside, thankful that at age six they were still young enough to be oblivious to such things.

oooooooooo

Madame had wanted the children to begin their education as soon as possible, but Duchess had insisted that they be tutored at home rather than sent to a school. They spent their mornings with a tutor who taught them all of their basic academic lessons, and their evenings after dinner with Duchess supervising their various artistic endeavors. She and Madame had agreed that there was no need for private lessons for any of them in such subjects unless they showed a particular inclination toward them. So with the basic skills she had in sketching, and the more expert knowledge she had in music, Duchess worked with each of her three children on whatever artistic endeavors they wished each day.

Berlioz had been practicing piano industriously for nearly a year now. He had always been drawn the instrument, telling his mother that he was going to be as good as her someday.

Marie had tried out anything and everything for a little while, but nothing held her attention. Duchess had finally at least convinced her to practice singing, and the precocious girl complied once she realized the attentions she received from Madame by giving her little impromptu concerts.

Toulouse had been as stubborn about Duchess's nightly lessons as he was about his academic lessons until about a month ago when, in a last desperate effort to find something he'd enjoy, Duchess had set up an easel and some paints for him. The boy had initially merely enjoyed making messes, but Duchess noticed with approval that he soon was making a focused effort to actually create likenesses of whatever struck his fancy.

That evening, lessons were particularly lively. For the past week, Duchess had Berlioz working on an accompaniment piece to a song for Marie to sing, and that particular practice had resulted in many a sour note and a few fights-Marie insisted that "ladies do not start fights, but they can finish them," and Duchess was secretly inclined to agree with her. Toulouse had showed her the painting he'd been keeping hidden from her for several days, and it turned out to be a rather unflattering portrait of Edgar. Duchess had had so much fun with the three of them that she often nearly forgot she was supposed to be keeping order, training her children to be proper ladies and gentlemen.

As their evening lessons drew to a close, Edgar entered the room with the tea tray. "Good evening, Mademoiselle, children." He set the tray down at the small table in the corner of the room. "Earl grey tea tonight-your favorite, Mademoiselle."

"Oh, how thoughtful! Thank you, Edgar." Duchess sat and took a long sip of her tea, her children following her example.

"Sleep well-I mean, drink. Drink well, of course." Edgar gave a slight bow before retreating out into the hallway.

Concerned by his strange behavior, Duchess watched him go, taking another quiet sip of her tea and pretending she didn't notice her children gulping at theirs. She'd corrected them enough for one day. Sometimes she wanted to just allow them to be-

oooooooooo

Duchess woke up in the dead of night by the side of a small stream, utterly alone.