Margot

Her face pearly white powered, a blouse with a fresh floral motif, Duchess Margot turned away with discretion from the company of the other ladies who chattered lovingly in the gardens overgrown by the incoming spring. She, who for hours had laid in Mme's Vigée’s atelier, was probably the only one to have understood the secret of that watermark filed between the many croquis and the fine oil canvas. It was a test for the portrait that would be exposed at the Salon. Why did the queen wear such an unusual and scandalous clothing? A simple nightgown ... Of course, that was the clue! The magic needles, the Black Thorn fragments, had ended up in the hands of the dressmaker who had sewed that muslin dress. Otherwise Her Majesty would never have been portrayed in that way. Instead, the queen's blouse was supposed to have something special. So Margot walked with ease the hall corridors to the place of the appointment. "Are you the dressmaker?" She asked the woman, who was expecting her slightly hidden behind a large golden candleholder. The interlocutor nodded. "Listen," the Duchess began. "What I have to say to you is very important: someone wants to hurt the queen. I absolutely have to know where those needles are hidden. I am willing to reward you very generously for this information. "