To answer the questions, here is my research:

Quoting Wikipedia: French Renaissance traditionally extends from (roughly) the French invasion of Italy in 1494 during the reign of Charles VIII until the death of Henri IV in 1610. This chronology not withstanding, certain artistic, technological or literary developments associated with the Italian Renaissance arrived in France earlier (for example, by way of the Burgundy court or the Papal court in Avignon); the Black Death of the 14th century and the Hundred Years' War however kept France economically and politically weak until the late 15th century.

The Black Death was a devastating pandemic that first struck Europe in the mid-14th century (1347–51), killing up to a third of Europe's population, an estimated 34 million people. A series of similar epidemics occurred across large portions of Asia and the Middle East during the same period, indicating that the European outbreak was actually part of a multi-regional pandemic. The same disease is thought to have returned to Europe every generation with varying degrees of intensity and fatality until the 1700s. Notable later outbreaks include the Italian Plague of 1629-1631, the Great Plague of London (1665–66), and the Great Plague of Vienna (1679).

Well, this turned out to be a little complicated. There is little dialogue in this one, some prayers in Latin and a whole lot of angst. Be warned.

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Chapter 2

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The work of a maid in the Chagny family estate was, as Marguerite had explained, draining but rewarding. One could get used to it once they discovered the daily routine and Christine was determined to try. However, the first days of her duties weren't that easy. She had been given the easier tasks, but after she almost knocked over an antique vase, Marguerite decided that for now, Christine would do better with a broomstick, wiping the floors of most of the dirt. Almost always, Marguerite was at her side or in the room right next to the one Christine dusting.

Marguerite introduced the rest of the staff to Christine and vice versa – the majordomos Nicholas, the butlers Michel, Pierre, Laurent and Germain, the maids Francine, Audrey, Janette, Rachelle, Yoland and Suzette, the last of which appeared to be the black sheep, since she was the only one who greeted Christine only with a cool sneer and the head cook, Lucien. Overall, they accepted her well enough, though, with the possible exception of Suzette, they viewed her with pity.

She kept to herself most of the time and brought her things from the orphanage over to the estate all at once. Truth to be told, she didn't have that many possessions, but there were some she truly needed. Fortunately, Marguerite turned out to be willing to help out with pretty much everything and proceeded to become a kind of guardian for Christine, teaching her everything a chambermaid needed to know… but slowly, since it might overwhelm the girl, or so Marguerite thought.

They went together to mass every Sunday to the local church along with a few of the other servants from the estate – some couldn't go all the time and were needed at home, took turns each week, but Marguerite went as often as possible and Christine loved going to church. Rarely did one see so much beauty around them, and for her, this was all the more true. She would pray for her father often, even for the mother who she barely remembered and only as a fleeing vision, like a dream.

For two whole weeks, Marguerite had been her guide and guardian. The third week, however, she was required to stay at home and help out at a small banquet for a few aristocrats. Christine went to church twice that day, to mass and then late in the afternoon, lingering in her prayers even after ever everyone had left. She prayed more than ever that she would learn all that she needed to become a good chambermaid, that she would one day be like Marguerite, unafraid and strong.

Pater noster, qui es in caelis

Sanctificetur nomen tuum;

Adveniat regnum tuum.

Fiat voluntas tua

Sicut in caelo et in terra

Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie.

Et dimitte nobis debita nostra,

Sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris.

Et ne nos inducas in tentationem;

Sed libera nos a malo.

Amen

Christine crossed herself after she finished the prayer that she had been taught by the priest who would come to the orphanage each week to say mass to the children there or take them to the church. She couldn't read or write, not could she fully remember the meaning of the words she had spoken, but she knew their purpose well.

She proceeded to return next day to repeat the process, again, later than usual. And the next day as well. it proceeded to become a habit of hers. It was dark outside by the time she had finished the prayer on the fifth day, but she felt good, because she had sung the prayer out loud, like the priests did during mass, and the church had been empty when she had been there, so she didn't have to worry about anyone scolding her. Each day, she sang the prayer to the Lord and whenever she left the church, she felt slightly lighter, slightly happier.

Her life had taken a turn for the better and she thanked the Lord for that. For the first time since the moment she had been left alone in the world, she felt happiness.

Never did she once suspect that her joyful face had caught the eye of someone else.

He, like she, came to the church not to be seen, but to have a private dialogue with God. Not to pray, however. Her arrival had caused him to vanish, as was his custom, but he had heard her whisper prayers when he was leaving. The next day, he waited for her to come and wasn't disappointed. He didn't even know why he was watching the child. There was something undoubtedly tragic about her, and it wasn't only her almost starved visage. She came and went alone, at all times.

Each day, however, she seemed happier, her face fuller, her eyes brighter. She prayed for her dead parents, for her friend Marguerite, for herself. From these prayers, he was able to gather what had happened to her. Only once a week had passed was he able to find out that it had been her voice that had drawn him. It was innocent, crystal clear and beautiful to the ear. It contained a purity he hadn't witnessed in a living being yet and yet a sadness that made his heart ache, which was surprising, because it took very much to move him after the four decades he had spent hiding away from the rest of the world.

He listened to the child's prayers and suddenly found himself wishing that they would be fulfilled. He knew more than well enough that if there was a God, he was far from the merciful image the Christians viewed him as. After all, it had been God who had denied him all the rights of a human being, God who had given him the face that frightened the bravest of men. God wouldn't protect the fragile little girl who came each day to tell Him of her troubles and plead for her loved ones.

And while he wasn't God, he knew it was within his power to aid the child by giving her what she had never received during her prayers – an answer. He would speak with her, as a voice of Heaven, its invisible messenger. Hearing her prayers had produced within him also a longing to speak with her and tell her that God was a lie… or, more probably, to simply pretend that God was indeed kind and would help her.

This evening, she came a few minutes later, and he had already begun to fear that she wouldn't come at all. It frightened him somewhat – she was what had caused him to linger in Paris, what gave him reason to go to church. She was an intriguing creature, this embodiment of naivety and innocence. So different from the world and unskilled in its ways that a part of him, the part that was still human, could almost believe that she wouldn't shrink away from him if he were to simply approach her and speak with her, simply ask for her companionship.

She came, however, unsmiling again and humble, knelt in front of the altar and sang her regular prayers. He knew them all. After all, he had grown up in a monastery. But now, however, now she was praying to God that he would stop some woman called Suzette from mocking her. She was in tears. He simply couldn't leave her alone in the darkness with a silent and impersonal God.

Instead, he began singing the Magnificat, quietly at first, then raising his voice. He knew how to make it sound as if the voice was coming from the altar itself, from in front of the girl or, if needed, from above.

Magnificat anima mea Dominum

Et exultavit spiritus meus in Deo salutari meo

Quia respexit humilitatem ancillæ suæ: ecce enim ex hoc beatam me dicent omnes generationes

Quia fecit mihi magna qui potens est, et sanctum nomen eius

Et misericordia eius a progenie in progenies timentibus eum

Fecit potentiam in bracchio suo, dispersit superbos mente cordis sui

Deposuit potentes de sede et exaltavit humiles

Esurientes implevit bonis et divites dimisit inanes,

Suscepit Israel puerum suum recordatus misericordiæ suæ,

Sicut locutus est ad patres nostros, Abraham et semini eius in sæcula

The girl looked up. She didn't understand, that much was clear, but she was entranced by the divine voice. There was no doubt that she believed it came from Heaven itself, that it was a message, an answer to her prayers. And he, silent in his dark cloak, hiding in one of the dark alcoves, continued singing, in French now, the same prayer, the same melody. No accompaniment was needed.

My soul doth magnify the Lord: and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour

For he hath regarded the lowliness of his handmaiden

For behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed

For he that is mighty hath magnified me: and holy is his name

And his mercy is on them that fear him throughout all generations

He hath shewed strength with his arm; he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts

He hath put down the mighty from their seat and hath exalted the humble and meek

He hath filled the hungry with good things and the rich he hath sent empty away

He remembering his mercy hath holpen his servant Israel: as he promised to our forefathers, Abraham and his seed, for ever

Crying tears of happiness, the girl sobbed audibly as she heard the prayer, at loss for words. She threw herself in front of the altar, lowering her head to the very ground. this surprised him, but he quickly recovered. He should have been expecting her reaction, he scolded himself. After all, she was a Christian, she believed this was a heavenly sign. He put the utmost gentleness into his voice as he spoke to her as if he were standing next to her.

"Rise, child, and feel no fear. No peril awaits you for henceforth you are under my protection." He said softly, trying to imagine how a real heavenly creature would speak.

The girl sobbed and raised her head timidly. "An… angel…" she said in a choked whisper, "Oh, Lord… oh Lord above, you have heeded my prayer… you have sent me a guardian angel as my father promised… father, father! Your little Christine thanks you… you… you are my guardian angel?"

Christine. Truly a Christian name, he thought. Thankfully, he had found it out before he had to address her, thus he was able to fulfill the role of an all-seeing and all-knowing angel easily. "Yes, Christine. I am your guardian angel, sent by your father who sits with my brethren in heaven."

Christine sobbed again. "I almost don't believe…"

"Believe, child, and you will be rewarded. Blessed are those who believe." He paused for a moment, cherishing her tears of joy. "I have sung the Magnificat for you – tradition dictates us to sing Gloria Patri. Sing with me, child." He commanded gently.

"I… I cannot besmirch your voice with mine…" Christine looked around, as if waiting for him to appear.

"Have no fear, child. The angels hear your voice as it soars to the Heavens. Sing with me and I will stay with you forever."

And the child, fearful that she would lose her angel, quickly obeyed. He smiled inwardly. It had been sealed, this thing. He would stay for her.

Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritu Sancto. Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in sæcula sæculorum, Amen.