"Desiree, I beg you. Dont be late for your coronation."

I shall never forget that sentence. Jean said it a dozen times while Marie and Yvette and Marceline were trying to get me ready. I was wondering all the time whether I looked, like a real Queen. Perhaps not. But I was proud of my coronation robe, because my dear Papa once held the cloth in his hands.

At last I was ready, and we went to my drawing room. Oscar was waiting for us there in his gayest uniform. He was looking at the crowds outside the castle gate.

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