well interpret his thoughts.
“That is well,” said Louis briskly. “I left Abbeville this day, telling my friends that I wanted to hunt. That was not true. My intention was to catch a glimpse of my bride, so great was my impatience. So I rode this way. But this is an informal meeting and I am going to leave you now because, when you ride on your way, I do not want my people to think they must cheer the King. I want their cheers to be for you alone.”
“You are so kind to me,” she murmured.
“Know that it shall be my chief task in the future to look to your comfort and pleasure.”
He mounted, then took off his hat and bowed his head; he seemed loth to turn away because that would mean taking his eyes from her.
The King and his horsemen rode off with a clatter of hooves; the Dauphin had leaped in the saddle and the cavalcade was ready to go forward.
“The King is enchanted,” murmured Francois, “as he could not fail to be.”
Mary was silent; her limbs were trembling so much that she feared it would be noticeable. She wanted to cry out: How much happier I should be if he had shown me indifference.
She could not forget those prominent eyes alight with desire for her. How far off was the marriage ceremony with the shadow of the nuptial bed hanging over it? One day? Two days? Could some miracle happen to save her even now?
In that moment she could almost wish that she had gone to Flanders, because she had heard that Charles was rather a simple-minded boy, a boy whom she might have been able to command; he would have been shy and inexperienced. But this old man who was her husband would never be shy; he was far from inexperienced; and his intentions regarding her had been apparent in his looks and gestures; even in that short time they had been together.
He looked ill. What was the swelling at his neck? She shivered. When he had ridden up he had not looked as though he were near death, decrepit and diseased as he was. Holy Mother, she thought, he could live for years. Years with those dry hot hands making free with her body … years of longing for the handsome virility of Charles.
She wanted to cry out her defiance; and she believed that she was saved from doing so by the sight of that tall figure beside her, whose alert eyes missed little and who, she was sure, knew exactly how she was feeling now. What was it he was attempting to offer? Commiseration? Consolation?
The town of Abbeville lay ahead. Mary felt exhausted, not with the physical exertion of the ride but with mental agitation.
The Dauphin was still talking; he did not wait for her answers; it was as though he understood her feelings perfectly—and was telling her: I chatter merely to give those about us the impression that all is well with you.
He explained how the King was waiting for her in the Hotel de la Gruthuse which would be his residence during his stay in that town. The people of Abbeville were so honored that the official meeting between the King and his bride should take place in their town that they had decorated the streets and were preparing to show her their pleasure in the union.
“You have ridden far,” he said tenderly, “and this has been a great ordeal for you. Would you care to enter the town in your litter?”
Mary was grateful for the suggestion. In the litter she would feel less exposed; and it was true that she was tired.
“I will ride beside the litter,” Francois told her with a smile. “So you will not have lost your … protector.”
“Why, Monsieur le Dauphin,” she replied, “the people of France have shown me such courtesy that I do not feel in need of a protector.”
He grimaced in a manner which was charming. “I pray you do not rob me of my role for I have rarely found one more to my taste.”
He turned away to call a halt, when the litter was brought forward and Mary entered it. She made a charming picture sitting there, for the litter was a thing of beauty, being covered with cloth of gold on which was embroidered the golden lilies.
“We must have it open,” Francois pointed out. “The people will want to see their Queen.”
So, riding in the open litter, Mary came into Abbeville, and when those watching from the city walls witnessed the approach of the party, the order was given for a hundred trumpets and clarions to sound, that their joyous greeting might fill the air. But to Mary they sounded like the notes of doom.
She saw the excited people who called out to her that she was beautiful. Long life to her, the Queen of France. She looked so young sitting there, the cloth of silver falling gracefully about her, her golden hair showing under the jeweled coif. She was more than a beautiful Queen. Recently there had been war with her people; but that was done with, and this lovely young girl was a symbol of the peaceful days ahead.
Through the triumphal arches they went, Mary turning this way and that to acknowledge the greetings, to express wonder at the tableau which the people of Abbeville had erected for her pleasure.
At last they came to the Church of St. Wulfran, where the Queen was helped from her litter that she might be led to the altar in order to adore the host.
She lingered; there was panic within her which forced her to make everything that preceded her meeting with the King to last as long as she could make it.
Francois was close.
“The King will be impatient,” he whispered. “He is awaiting your coming at the Hotel de la Gruthuse.”
She nodded pathetically and allowed herself to be led back to her litter, and the journey continued.
The Duke of Norfolk had now taken the place of the Dauphin; he it was whose duty it was to lead her to the King and make the formal introduction. Mary did not like Norfolk because she believed he was no friend of Charles’s. He was a man who was so proud of his rank that he resented it when other men were lifted up to be set on an equal footing with him. He was Norfolk. Why should a man who had nothing—except a handsome face and skill in sport—be given honors so that he could stand as an equal against men who had been born to dignity? Moreover he
