Louis laid his arm about her shoulders. He admired her so much. She was so strong-minded, so intelligent; but her hatred of Louise of Savoy was almost unreasonable. It was surely natural that the mother of Francois should be ambitious for him; nor were her ambitions misplaced; when all was said and done the boy was the heir.
“We should affiance him without delay to our daughter.”
“Claude … to marry that … lout!”
“She is our daughter; we can at least make sure that she is Queen of France.”
“I am determined to have a son.”
“My dearest wife, I could not allow you to endanger your life.”
“It is my duty to bear a son.”
“No, no. Not when we have an heir in Francois. He is healthy enough to please anyone. The people are already interested in him. He has all the gifts that will appeal most to them. It is our fate and we must accept it.”
“He shall not have my delicate Claude.”
“If he is to be King she could not make a better match.”
“Could she not? I have decided that she shall have the grandson of Maximilian. Little Charles of Castile shall be for our Claude. I should like to see Louise’s face when she hears of that. Claude married to the Archduke Charles; and I to have a son. Where would Monsieur Francois be then … for all his mother’s ambitions?”
“Have you decided then?” he asked sadly.
“I have decided. Francois shall not have Claude.”
Louise laughed aloud when she heard.
“Does she think I shall mourn! Does she think I want that poor little insect for Caesar? It would be like mating a donkey with an Arab steed. Let the Archduke have her. Let him be promised to her. It won’t be the first time he has been promised in marriage.”
Yet she was annoyed, because the people would have been pleased by the match. And when a king is not a king’s son it was better that he married the daughter of a king.
Had Louis suggested the match she would have been pleased. She would have told Francois: “Marry the poor creature. It is your destiny.”
And Francois would have married her and, because he was Francois, would have provided France with heirs. She smiled thinking of the beautiful women who would count themselves honored to be his mistresses.
But she snapped her fingers. “Caesar shall have a princess for a bride—she will have beauty as well as rank.”
The King was ill and the news spread throughout the country that he was dying.
Louise was exultant. There would be none between Francois and the throne. He was not quite twelve years old, so there would have to be a Regency. Her mind was busy. She would impress upon him the need to keep his mother at his side.
She could scarcely contain herself. She paced up and down her room. Once again Jeanne de Polignac implored her to hide her exultation; if it were carried to Court that she had exulted because the King was dying she might be accused of sorcery, or at least treason. Had she thought of the consequences of that? She must not forget that Anne of Brittany was the Queen and her enemy.
“They’ll not dare harm the King’s mother. Francois loves me as he loves no other. He would not allow it.”
“Francois is yet a boy.”
“Francois will be King. Perhaps at this moment he
“It is too soon to triumph.”
Louise embraced her good friend. “How wise you are to warn me. But I am so happy I cannot contain my happiness.”
Louise was downcast when the King recovered.
In the streets of Paris the people rejoiced because the “Father of his People” was still with them. But he was very weak, and it seemed that he could not live long.
Louise’s spirits were soon rising again. The King an invalid. The Queen an invalid. It seemed unlikely that they could produce a healthy heir, yet Anne would insist that they go on trying as long as there was life left in them both.
Anne, desperately afraid that she was going to lose her husband, decided that she would go on a pilgrimage to her native Brittany; and she left the King in the care of his physicians.
Louis lay limply in his bed and, when his Queen had been absent for some days, he sent for his old friend, Georges d’Amboise.
“Georges,” he said, “I fear my end is not far off.”
Georges was too wise a man to deny this, because he knew the King would not respect untruthfulness.
“At Amboise Louise of Savoy will be waiting for the moment when that boy of hers will mount the throne. It is coming, Georges, and the Queen and I shall not be able to prevent it. Francois Premier will follow me.”
“Sire, you are a little better. I had it from your physicians. There may be some time left to you.”
