future of her darling.
Naturally Francois was unaware of his mother’s anguish. He liked Amboise; and when he passed through the town the people cheered him. Marguerite was his constant companion, and they had little Francoise with them. There had been talk of a sword though; he had not received that yet; and when he mentioned it, his mother— usually so eager to give way to his whims—shook her head and said that was for later.
When plague came to certain cities Louise left Amboise in haste for Romorantin, a quiet retreat in the heart of woodland country. Amboise had been unaffected but there was much coming and going there, and she could not allow Francois to run the slightest risk.
Louis had gone off to Italy to carry out his treaty with the Pope, while his Queen was patiently waiting for the end of her pregnancy at Blois.
When Louise sat with Jeanne one day while they worked on their tapestry, Jeanne tried to reason with her. “You are unlike yourself, Louise. You are over-wrought.”
“Once Anne has given birth to a girl or a still-born child I shall regain my composure. Although there could well be other pregnancies. But Louis is away at the wars. Long may he stay there. And if this child she is bearing should prove to be …”
Jeanne shook her head. “You must be more at peace. If the worst should happen …” She shrugged her shoulders. “Well then, Francois would still have a great future, I am sure.”
“A great future! There is no future great enough for him but that of kingship. He is a king from the top of his lovely head to his dear little toes. God bless him, my King, my Caesar.”
“Louise, forgive me, for I love the boy dearly, but I think that you could allow your devotion to him to drive you mad.”
“Mad! Then mad I would be. He is my life and my love. I would die tomorrow if I lost him. And I think that if another took the crown from him I should begin to die from that moment.”
It was no use talking to her. She was a woman besotted with love and ambition for the loved one.
“I hear the approach of horses,” said Jeanne, rising. “I wonder who comes this way.”
She went to the window and, looking out, exclaimed in such astonishment that Louise came hurrying to her side.
When she saw the litter which was being carried she caught her breath in wonder. There was no mistaking that litter. It was decorated with the golden lilies of France.
“Anne herself!” whispered Louise. “But what can this mean?”
“You should go and find out,” Jeanne told her.
Louise hurried down to greet the party. Anne of Brittany, Queen of France, noticeably advanced in pregnancy, was helped from her litter.
Louise knelt before her till Anne bade her rise.
The Queen looked down somewhat cynically at the little woman with the fierce blue eyes and the firm jaw.
“We are greatly honored at Romorantin,” said Louise.
“There is plague at Blois,” answered the Queen. “I dared stay no longer.”
“Madame, if we had but had warning …”
“There was no time to give it, but we knew that we could rely on Madame d’Angouleme.”
Louise’s sharp eyes swept over the Queen’s body. She looked tired. She was pale. The journey must have exhausted her. So there was plague in Blois. What if some of the party already carried it? My King, my Caesar! What if … It was unthinkable. But if the Queen herself were suffering, if the child …
She must banish her wild thoughts and give her attention to entertaining the Queen at Romorantin.
How ironic! So the Queen was to give birth to that all-important child under that very roof where Louise was living with her cherished heir presumptive.
What strange days they were! Anne kept to the apartments which had been hastily prepared for her. The Queen was in a dilemma; she longed to summon holy men to her, but she feared they might be carriers of the plague. She wanted to make her pilgrimages; but she felt exhausted and was afraid that a journey might harm the precious child she carried.
She was fully aware of the watchful eyes of Louise—blue, cold and calculating.
She hated the woman; she knew what was going on in her mind, and when she caught glimpses of that boisterous boy who seemed to run everywhere and take sudden leaps into the air in an excess of good health and high spirits she was overcome with envy.
“Holy Mother,” she prayed, “give me a boy such as that one and I will spend the rest of my life in good works.”
“How is the Queen today?” Louise asked Anne’s attendants.
“A little tired, Madame.”
“The saints preserve her.”
When the Queen’s women told her of the solicitude of Madame d’Angouleme Anne smiled graciously, but inwardly she was sardonic. She wishes me as much good will as I wish her, she thought. How I long for the day when my son is born!
It was a pleasant pastime, planning how she would summon Louise to her bedchamber and proudly display the heir to the throne, how she would thank her for all she had done to make her confinement comfortable.
Every night Louise paced up and down her own apartments. Jeanne was with her, attempting to comfort
