Paris was sleeping when I stepped out into the morning. The formerly glittering Eiffel Tower loomed dark in the sky. Even the most persistent souvenir vendor had long packed up his wares for the comforts of home, and so, for a moment, the streets belonged to me. I gave up my reign shortly as I descended underground to take the train to Versailles, where generations of kings named Louis held court. Our train slithered out of Paris into the wilds of the suburbs as the day sighed into being, bleary-eyed.
“This, Madame, is Versailles.”
