And watching him now, with his sister, Marguerite, she said aloud: “And from that moment the world was a different place because he had come into it.”
She had rarely allowed him out of her sight; his robust looks were a perpetual delight to her; and it had been clear from the first that he was no ordinary child. “This will be a fine man,” Jeanne de Polignac had laughed, holding the boy high in the air. “I never saw such perfect limbs. See, his features are already marked. That is his father’s nose.”
Such joy; and it would have been complete if Anne of Brittany was not also rejoicing for the same reason.
Jeanne said to her: “I doubt the Dauphin has the looks of our young Francois. I doubt he can yell as loudly for
A satisfied smile curved Louise’s lips. Francois had leaned forward and shut the book on his sister’s lap. She knew he was saying: “Tell me a story, sister.” Marguerite’s arm was about him, and she was beginning one of her stories which were really brilliant for a child of her age. What a pair! They were incomparable; and if Marguerite had but been a boy she would have been as wonderful as little Francois. But what joy it gave her to see this love between them!
She laughed aloud suddenly. She could not help it; she was thinking of how Fate was on her side, and she was certain that every obstacle which stood in her way was going to be removed. For little Charles the Dauphin, son of malformed Charles and ambitious Anne of Brittany, fell suddenly sick of a fever and not even the prayers and ministrations of the Good Man could save him. His mother was prostrate with grief and Louise believed that as soon as she had recovered a little from the shock she thought of that little boy who was now sitting under the trees with his sister Marguerite, strong and healthy, never out of the loving care of his mother.
There was a hatred between the two women, which must keep them apart. Louise could not imagine what disaster might befall here if she were ever misguided enough to go to Court. She was too apprehensive of the welfare of her Francois to flaunt his superior beauty and strength before a sorrowing and bereaved mother.
“They will never get a healthy son,” she whispered to Charles, her husband. “And if they do not, it will soon be your turn.”
“Louis d’Orleans comes before me,” he had reminded her.
“Louis d’Orleans!” she cried scornfully. “Married to crippled Jeanne! He’ll get no son to follow him. I tell you it will be you first and then Francois. I can see him, the crown on his head; and I’ll tell you that none ever has worn it, nor ever will, with more grace.”
Charles gave her his cynical smile. “Why, wife,” he said, “I had thought you a shrewd woman. And so you are in all other matters. But where our son is concerned you are over-rash. Have a care what words you utter. It would not be well if they were carried to Court.”
She nodded. She had her precious Francois to consider. She believed he must be kept away from intrigue, brought up in the quiet of Cognac, so that others less fortunate than she was might not see him and envy her. He must be kept hidden until that time when he was ready to emerge and claim his own.
“So I pray you have a care,” Charles had warned her, “and do not betray your feelings when we are at Amboise.”
“At Amboise!”
“My dear, it is natural that his kinsmen should follow the Dauphin to his tomb.”
How disconcerted she had been. She must travel from Cognac to Amboise with her husband, to pretend to mourn; not that that perturbed her as much as being forced to leave Francois behind. She had been more thankful then than at any other time for the presence of Jeanne de Polignac at Cognac. “Take care of the children,” she pleaded with her, “and never let the boy out of your sight.”
Jeanne laid her hand on Louise’s. “You may trust me as you would trust yourself.”
How cold it had been that December! It was small wonder that the little Dauphin had not recovered from his fever. Yet Francois toddled through the great rooms of the
But disaster coming from an unexpected direction was at hand. She and Charles set out with their attendants in that inclement weather, and when they left Cognac, Charles had seemed well. He was not an old man, being but thirty-six years of age, and the cold did not seem to trouble him; but by the time they had reached Chateauneuf he had begun to cough, and with each cough suffered such agonizing pain in his side that he could not suppress his groans. It had been impossible for him to remain in the saddle, and she had ordered that he be carried into a nearby house while she sent a rider with all speed to Cognac for the best physician to be found. What energy she had displayed in those two weeks which followed; she had never left Charles’s bedside; but even at that time of anxiety she had not forgotten to send messengers back for news of Francois. Praise be to Jeanne, Francois continued in good health, so that she could devote herself wholeheartedly to the fight for her husband’s life. While she sat at his bedside she visualized what his death could mean to her. She, a girl not yet twenty years of age, to be left alone to fight for her son’s place in society! She had the utmost confidence in her ability, yet she must remember that she was but a woman and that strong men would be ranged against her. Charles must live … for the sake of Francois.
But on that bitterly cold New Year’s Day Louise had become a widow. And a widow she had remained in spite of attempts to give her a husband. No one was going to marry her off. She had made one marriage for State reasons and out of that marriage had come her Francois; any other marriage might not be advantageous for her son; therefore there should be no marriage; he was enough for her from now on.
And now watching him from the window she thought: And so it shall be, my little love, until I see you on the throne of France.
Francois had leaped to his feet and started to run; Marguerite was immediately beside him, taking his hand. Something had happened to excite them. Louise left the window and hurried down to the courtyard.
Jeanne de Polignac joined her on her way down.
