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

country. He was, however, deeply respectful to his wife and apt to give her her way in everything; and as Anne of Brittany was a forceful woman, France was governed as much by her as by Louis.

It was a source of great disappointment that they had only one child—little Claude, who was undersized, walked with a limp and was clearly never going to be strong.

Reluctantly he told Anne they must face the fact that Francois had a very fair chance of following him to the throne.

“In that case,” said Anne tartly, “he should be brought up as a man and untied from a woman’s apron strings.”

Louis agreed that this was so and, sending for Marechal de Gie, told him that he was to go to Amboise and become Governor of the household of Angouleme, his special charge being the boy Francois who was to be brought up in all manly activities.

De Gie recognized the importance of this task and set off with a will.

Louise received him with great apprehension, although she realized that now Francois was seven years old he could no longer be regarded as a baby. As for the boy himself, as long as he was not separated from his mother and sister, he was happy enough to have a chance to fence and learn how to joust.

On the day before de Gie was due to arrive at the chateau Louise was alone with her son and daughter. She sat with one on either side of her and put an arm about each.

“My children,” she said, “you are growing up and you will find that we cannot go on in the way we have. Soon life in the chateau will change. They are going to make our Francois into a man—and they do not think his mother, being a woman, is capable of doing that.”

“But you will be here with us, dearest Maman?” asked Marguerite anxiously.

“Do you think that I should allow anyone to part me from you? Nay, my children. We are as one—we three. We are a trinity. Let us remember it forever.”

“I shall never forget,” said Marguerite.

“Bless you, my daughter. I know you love your brother.”

“And I love my sister,” cried Francois.

“You love each other; and I love you both; and you love me. My dear ones, there was never such love to the world as we have for each other. Let us remember it. And one day when you, my son, are King of France, you will know that there is none whom you can trust as you trust your mother and sister—because we are as three in one: A trinity.”

Francois liked the new life. Marechal de Gie was determined to ingratiate himself with one who might well be a King of France, but at the same time he laid down rules which must not be broken. He explained to the boy that these were necessary; to acquire manhood one must never ignore discipline.

Francois was a good pupil. Being strong and healthy he loved the outdoor life; being quick-witted, and for so long under the surveillance of his brilliant sister, he was fond of learning. He was good-natured and strangely unspoiled by the devotion of his family; he loved his mother and sister almost as devotedly as they loved him and was anxious never to displease them nor cause them anxiety.

De Gie’s first act had been to replace Francois’s pony with a horse. Louise came out to the courtyard to see him mounted, and tears of emotion temporarily blinded her at the sight of that upright little figure perched on the tall horse.

She had a whip made for him of gold decorated with fleur-de-lis in enamel; he was delighted with the gift and would not abandon it even when he was not riding. One of the charms of Francois was that, indulged as he was, he could always feel enthusiasm for small delights.

It had been necessary now to send the little Francoise back to her parents. It was no task for an embryo knight to care for a child; and as Marguerite was growing too old for such pastimes and had to increase her studies, they must say goodbye to their little protegee.

They both had plenty with which to occupy themselves, and life at Amboise seemed to Francois like one adventure after another.

One day Louise was at the window watching his equestrian exercises under the surveillance of de Gie. Francois was mounted on a new horse and he sat it boldly, brandishing his whip.

She watched him taking a jump. What a horseman the boy was becoming! He excelled in everything he undertook.

“I verily believe,” she said to Jeanne who was with her, “that he is a god in earthly guise.”

Then she caught her breath in dismay. The horse had started to rear; it had the bit between its teeth and was galloping blindly over the fields, while Francois was clinging to it with all his might. De Gie, who was talking to some of the attendants, had not seen what was happening, and for some seconds Louise was unable to move. She saw her life in ruins; she saw them bringing in his mangled body—her beautiful one, her beloved … dead. She would die with him. There would no longer be any purpose in life.

“Holy Mother, help me,” she prayed; and she dared not look at that madly galloping animal with the small figure still managing to stay in the saddle.

She rushed down the great staircase and out of the chateau, shouting to all who could hear as she did so: “The Comte’s horse is running away with him. Quick! All of you. Monsieur le Marechal! Everyone! Help! The Comte is in danger.”

By the time she had reached the field in which Francois had been exercising his horse, de Gie had seen what was happening and, galloping after the boy, had brought the runaway horse to a standstill. Louise, watching, felt her knees tremble so violently that she thought they would not support her. The relief was almost unbearable; for there was Francois, laughing as though the whole affair had been something of a joke, being led back to the spot where his mother was waiting.

He took one look at her and saw the distress still in her face.

“It is unharmed, Maman,” he called reassuringly. “See, I have not broken it.”

He held up the whip for her to see; and the fact that he had believed she was concerned for the thing brought