Mary, Queen of France: The Story of the Youngest Sister of Henry VIII

On a patch of grass before the cottage a baby was crawling.

Francois knew of course what was going to happen now. Marguerite had as usual provided him with what he wanted. She opened the gate and, going into the garden, picked up the baby, who was not very clean.

“And we shall not scold her,” said Marguerite, “for she is too young to know that she must be clean. This is our baby, Francois. We are not going to play with dolls.”

Francois skipped round his sister. “Shall I carry her, Marguerite?”

“No, you are not big enough. I’ll carry her and when we’ve cleaned her, you shall hold her.”

They entered the chateau without being observed and went up to the nurseries.

There they undressed the child and washed her; then Marguerite found some of Francois’s discarded garments and dressed the baby in them. It was a wonderful game, for the child had to be soothed when she whimpered; then it occurred to Marguerite that she was hungry, so they fed her with sweetmeats.

“Now you see, Francois,” said Marguerite, “how different it is to be a real father and mother from playing with dolls!”

“Dolls!” cried Francois contemptuously. “Who wants dolls!”

When they had dressed and fed the child they decided that it was time she was put to bed. So they put her in Marguerite’s bed, where she lay serenely laughing at them and kicking her legs as though she enjoyed the game as much as they did.

Madeleine came in and discovered them, and when she saw that they had a real baby she gave a gasp of wonderment.

“You go and play with Papillon,” commanded Marguerite. “This is our baby—mine and Francois’s.”

It was impossible to keep their secret. Madeleine told Souveraine and Souveraine told little Jeanne who told big Jeanne. Moreover the baby had been missed and her parents were distractedly searching for her.

Jeanne de Polignac came into the nursery where Francois and Marguerite, one on each side of the bed, watched the baby who was crowing contently at them.

“But what is this?” she asked.

“My brother wanted a real baby. He did not wish to play with dolls,” explained Marguerite.

“So you took her from the cottage! Her mother is searching for her.”

“She cannot have her,” cried Francois. “She is our baby … mine and Marguerite’s. We have to have her because we do not play with dolls.”

Jeanne went out and shortly afterward came back with the child’s mother.

“The young Compte and his sister have taken a fancy to the child,” she explained. “They want to keep her in the chateau for a while.”

The mother was relieved to see her child, and delighted at the interest of the children, because she saw advantages for her little daughter in this interest. She had several other children and if her daughter could be clothed and fed at the chateau she would be a fool to protest.

“It is a charming picture,” she said.

Jeanne laid a hand on her arm. “We will see that the little one comes to no harm in the nurseries.”

Marguerite spoke with grave dignity. “We will see that she is kept clean,” she said.

With one of his sudden impulses Francois knelt on the bed and kissed the baby as his mother kissed him.

The matter was settled. The children should have the baby for as long as they wanted her.

“What is her name?” asked Marguerite. “We could name her ourselves, but perhaps she has a name already.”

“It is Francoise, Mademoiselle,” said the child’s mother.

Francois solemnly got down from the bed and began to jump as high as he could. This was an expression of great pleasure.

He was Francois; the child was Francoise. She was truly his.

Louise returned to Cognac in dismay.

Once she had assured herself that her children were safe and well she shut herself up with Jeanne.

“I do not like what I discovered.”

“The King was gracious to you?”

“Hm. I know Louis. He is all soft words, but there are plans afoot.”

“He would not give Francois Orleans?”

“No, he would not. I think I know what goes on in his mind. He was evasive. Francois is too young yet, he says. He bids me wait a while. Francois is not too young to be the heir presumptive, I hinted; therefore he is not too young to bear the title. Jeanne, I am alarmed. I see that I have my enemies. I am but a weak woman … and I am the only one to protect my little King from all those who would work against him.”

“You’re no weak woman,” laughed Jeanne. “Francois couldn’t have a better protector, even if his father lived.”

“But listen. Louis is determined to get an heir.”

“He never will. Jeanne is incapable of bearing a child. She proved that when she was Duchesse d’Orleans; she can’t become fruitful merely because she’s Queen.”