woman rose, in somewhat ungainly fashion, and as she did so she looked at the new Queen of France. It was not exactly hatred that Mary saw in that face; it was too mild for that. Was it resentment?
Doubtless, thought Mary, married to that gay young man she has cause to be resentful. It is unlikely that he is a faithful husband. But that was no reason why she should resent Mary.
Mary had too many anxieties of her own to consider for very long those of Claude, Princess of France and wife of the Dauphin.
The sounds of trumpets rang through the halls of Hotel de la Gruthuse. The solemnity was over; and the King was now ready to lead his bride to the banquet.
He took her hand gently, almost as though he believed she was a precious piece of porcelain that would break with rough handling. Seated beside him at the center table she partook very moderately of the food which was offered, and the King was concerned about her lack of appetite.
It was clear to all those present that the King was delighted with his bride. They had not for years seen him looking so young or so full of vigor.
There was the long day to live through, for the marriage had been performed at nine in the morning; and in accordance with the etiquette of France Mary retired after the banquet to apartments which had been prepared for her personal use, and there she entertained the Princesses of France, and ladies of the nobility.
Now she had an opportunity of making closer acquaintance with Claude and her young sister, Renee. The latter was pleasant enough and inclined to be excited by all the pageantry which had taken place; but the melancholy of Claude, which held a hint of reproach, was disturbing.
“It is my Father’s command,” Claude told her, “that I discover your needs and supply them.”
“There is nothing I need ask for,” Mary replied, “though I thank you.”
And in that moment Mary forgot her own troubles because she was suddenly overwhelmed with pity for this poor, plain girl, who was married to that extremely attractive young man.
She smiled, wanting to show this girl that she was ready to be friendly with her, and laying a hand on her arm said: “I am your mother now. It may be that we can be friends.”
Claude drew back as though she had been struck. “My mother is dead. It is not a year since they laid her in her tomb. No one else could ever take her place.”
She limped away, ugly color in her face and neck.
Someone else was at Mary’s side—a very beautiful, composed young woman a few years older than herself.
“Madame Claude still mourns her mother,” said the newcomer in a low and charming voice. “I also have tried to comfort her. At this stage it is useless.”
“They were devoted to one another?”
“They were. And the Princess is so like her mother in many ways. Queen Anne thought it was sinful to enjoy life, and brought her daughter up to think the same. A sad philosophy, do you not think so, Madame; and an unwise one?”
“I agree.”
“I knew you would. My brother has already told me of your conversations during the journey from Abbeville.”
“Your brother?”
“The Dauphin, Madame. I am Marguerite de Valois, Duchesse d’Alencon. You will remember my brother.”
Mary smiled. “Having met him I could never forget him.”
“There is no one like him at the Court … nor anywhere in the world, I am sure. Francois is unique.”
“I can see that you are proud of him.”
“Can you marvel at that? Madame, may I present you to my mother?”
Mary was looking into a pair of lively blue eyes, and meeting the intent gaze of a short but vivacious woman.
“The Comtesse d’Angouleme,” Marguerite explained.
“I pray you rise,” said Mary warmly. “It gives me great pleasure to greet you. I have already made the acquaintance of your son, the Dauphin, and now Madame la Duchesse d’Alencon.”
“We are honored by your notice,” Louise replied, and her bright smile belied her inner feelings. She felt sick with apprehension. This girl was beautiful beyond the glowing reports she had heard. If ever a woman could have an aphrodisiacal effect on Louis’s flagging desires it must be this one. Perfectly formed in every way, healthy, and with a look about her which suggested she would be fertile. At least that was how it seemed to Louise’s imagination.
She had seen her from a distance at the wedding ceremony, and of course she had looked exquisite. But who wouldn’t, Louise had asked herself, covered in diamonds and cloth of gold? Even Claude had looked tolerably handsome on her wedding day. But seen close at hand, that fine glowing skin which proclaimed good health, those clear eyes, added to her anxiety.
Marguerite, being fully aware of her mother’s chagrin, told her that the Queen had been enlivened with the company of Francois during her journey and Louise’s smile illuminated her face as she said: “He is at the right hand of the King. So occupied that his mother sees little of him nowadays. Not that I do not hear his name constantly mentioned. Who can be surprised at that?”
“I am sure,” said Mary, “that he is successful in all he undertakes.”
Other ladies were waiting to be presented to the Queen, and Marguerite and her mother moved away.
Keeping her hand on her mother’s elbow Marguerite piloted Louise out of the main
