He sought out Marguerite; he was so excited because he had found their little Francoise again.
“Dearest, do you remember our baby?” he cried. “Do you remember little Francoise? I have met her again and she is beautiful … the most beautiful girl in the world, except yourself. I am in love with her.”
Marguerite smiled at him indulgently. “I am glad, beloved, that you are in love. It is so good for you. Lust without love is a poor pastime. And you have found Francoise. I knew that she was here, because one of my servants is married to her sister. She lives with her family in the town. It is rather charming that you should love our baby.”
“Marguerite, tell me what I should do. She was a little afraid of me, I think. I spoke to her in the churchyard and she ran away.”
“Next time do not allow her to run away. Tell her of your feelings. She will be your mistress, and it is good for you to have a mistress. And Francoise is a good girl … a virgin, I promise you. I am delighted that this has happened.”
“You think that she will be my mistress?”
Marguerite laughed aloud. “Any woman in France would be honored to be your mistress.”
“You say that, who love me.”
“Beloved, you have all the gifts. You are young; you are charming, witty, and handsome. And you are the Dauphin of France. My love, you look to me like a king already. No woman would resist you.”
But Francoise, it seemed, was the one woman in France who would not become his mistress.
She avoided him, and again and again he was disappointed. She no longer walked across the churchyard, and it took him some time to discover that she now went to another church. When he had traced her, he told how hurt he was, but to his consternation Francoise implored him to leave her alone.
Disconcerted, he once more consulted Marguerite who herself went to Francoise to find out the real cause of her reluctance.
Francoise broke into bitter weeping when questioned by Marguerite. Indeed she loved Francois; she had loved him since she was a baby. Through her life she had gathered all the news she could about him. She would always love Francois.
“And he loves you too. How happy you will be,” said Marguerite.
But Francoise shook her head. “I cannot meet the Dauphin,” she said. “We are too far apart, and I would die rather than commit the sin of becoming a man’s mistress, whoever that man might be.”
Marguerite pointed out that this was folly. It was good to be virtuous, but to be the mistress of a king—and the Dauphin would one day be King—was not a disgrace but an honor.
“Madame,” answered Francoise, “to me it seems a sin whether it be a dauphin or a beggar.”
Marguerite shrugged her shoulders and went back to Francois.
“The girl adores you,” she told him, “and so she should. She talks of sin. You must have her abducted, seduce her, and then I’ll swear she will forget all about sin and you will both be as happy as you were intended to be.”
Francois was happy again. He could trust Marguerite to find the solution to all his problems.
They had brought her to him; she was pale and trembling. Francois was afraid they had hurt her. He had ordered them to be gentle, but she had obviously struggled.
She looked at him, and he felt that he would never be able to forget the reproach in those brown eyes.
“So,” she said, “you have trapped me.”
“But Francoise,” he replied, “it is only because I love you so much.”
She shook her head, and he saw the tears on her lashes.
He went to her then and took her roughly in his arms. She was small and he was so strong. He knew that he could subdue her.
“Now,” he demanded, “are you not happy because they brought you to me?”
“Francois,” she answered earnestly, “if you harm me, this will be something which your conscience will never let you forget.”
“Oh come, Francoise. You have been brought up too simply. At the Court people make love and do not call it a sin.”
“I know what is in my heart, Francois.”
“Do you hate me then?”
“I have confessed to your sister that I love you.”
“Why then …”
But she covered her face with her hands.
He put his hand on her breast and felt the tremor run through her body. She stood rigid, and he thought suddenly: But she means it. She calls it sin.
“Francoise,” he said. “Little Francoise, you must not be afraid of me. When we are lovers in truth you will understand that I would not hurt you for the world. Please, Francoise, smile and be happy.”
“I am in your power,” she said, and shivered.
He was angry and an impulse came to him to force her to do his will. Was he not the Dauphin? Had not Marguerite said that any woman would be honored to be his mistress? Any woman … except Francoise, the one he wanted.
He caught at the bodice of her dress. In a second he would have ripped it from her shoulders. But he did not do
