so. He thought of little Francoise, the helpless baby; she was as helpless now.
He loved her—not as he loved his sister and mother for he would never love any with that deep abiding emotion. But he wanted to protect her, never to hurt her, and he could not bear to see her frightened and to know that he was the cause of her fear.
“Oh Francoise,” he said, “do not tremble. I would not harm you. I love you too well. You shall go to your home now. Have no fear. You will be safe.”
She knelt down suddenly and kissed his hand; her tears were warm and they moved him deeply.
He laid his hand on her hair, and he felt grown up … no longer a boy, but a man.
And although he had lost Francoise, because he knew that to see her again would be to put a temptation in his way which he might not be able to resist, he was happier than he would have been if he had seduced her.
“I shall never forget you, Monsieur le Dauphin,” she said. “I shall never forget you … my King.”
“Nor shall I forget you, Francoise,” he told her.
She left him and, true to his word, he did not see her for some years, although he never forgot her and often made inquiries as to her well-being.
When he told Marguerite what had happened she was as pleased as he was by the outcome and said that he had acted with his usual wisdom. She had believed that Francoise would have been delighted by her seduction; but Francoise, it seemed, was an unusually virtuous girl; and by renouncing her he had acted like the perfect knight he was.
She was proud of her darling, as always.
Christmas at Court lacked its usual gaiety. There had been a humiliating skirmish with the English and, although the French had not taken the boastful Henry VIII and his army seriously, the result had been the Battle of the Spurs, and the border towns of Therouanne and Tournay had been lost. The King of England had taken a few prisoners, among them the Duc de Longueville. It was rather depressing, particularly as Louis was in great pain with his gout, and his Queen was in an even more sorry state.
Anne had suffered a great deal since her confinements, and the fact that they had brought her but two girls made her very melancholy. She now had to accept the fact that she could not prevent Louise’s boy ascending the throne, and when she recalled that he was betrothed to her own Claude she was apprehensive.
“What sort of life will our delicate child have with him?” she demanded of Louis. “Already one hears constant talk of his conquests. And he affianced to the daughter of the King! My poor Claude! I fear for her. Would that I had my way and she had married the Archduke Charles who is, by all accounts, a gentle person. But this Francois has too much energy. He is too lusty. He is horribly spoiled. And this is the Dauphin! This is the husband-to-be of my poor Claude!”
Louis tried to soothe her. “He is a fascinating young fellow. Claude will be the envy of all the women. He’ll be a good husband.”
“A good and faithful husband,” said Anne sardonically.
“He’s too young for fidelity, but when he mellows he’ll be a good King, never fear.”
“But I
She persisted in her melancholy; and since the King retired to bed early and could eat nothing but boiled meat, it fell to the lot of the Dauphin to make a merry Christmas.
This he did with little effort, and already men and women of the Court were beginning to look forward to the day when the King of France would be young Francois Premier instead of old Louis the Twelfth.
Shortly after the New Year the Queen took to her bed; she suffered great pain and Louis, summoning the best physicians to her bedside, found that instead she needed the priests.
When, on a cold January day, Anne of Brittany died, Louis was distraught. He had been in awe of her; there had been times when he had had to resort to subterfuge in order to go against her wishes; but he had loved her and respected her. She had been such a contrast to poor Jeanne, his first wife; and because, when he had married her he had been past his youth and in far from good health, he had counted himself fortunate, in an age of profligacy, to have a faithful wife on whose honor he could absolutely rely.
He wept bitterly at her bedside.
“Soon,” he said, “I shall be lying beside her in the tomb.”
But the bereaved husband was still the King of France. He sent for his ministers. “The marriage of my daughter to the Dauphin must take place without delay,” he said. “Even the fact that we are in mourning for the Queen must not delay that. I do not think I am long for this world; I must see my daughter married before I leave it.”
So Francois was to prepare himself for marriage, and Louise, hearing the news, made ready to join her son.
“Ah, Jeanne,” she cried, “what happiness! My enemy is no more and I have heard that, by the looks of the King, he will not be long in following her. Then the glorious day will be with us. Caesar will come into his own.”
Even Jeanne de Polignac believed now that no more obstacles could stand in their way.
The two women embraced. Anne of Brittany could no longer produce an heir. The way to the throne was wide open and no one stood in the way of Francois.
Louise laughed in her glee. “All these years I have feared and suffered such agonies! Why, Jeanne, I need never have worried. All her efforts came to naught; and now my beloved is at Court and no one dares dispute his claim. How long has Louis left, do you think? I hear that the death of Anne upset him so much that he had to keep to his bed for a week. Well, Louis has had his day.”
They were joyful as they prepared to go to Court.
“But,” Jeanne warned her friend, “be careful not to show your elation. Remember we are supposed to be mourning for the Queen.”
“Louis knows too well how matters stood between us to expect much mourning from me. Louis is no fool, Jeanne.”
