Francois, who had returned to the King’s side, was giving her a look which was both tender and a warning; and she warmed toward him because she believed that he was trying to help her.
Almost immediately the page was announcing the arrival of Claude and Marguerite. Claude looked sullen, Marguerite lovely and eager.
“My dears,” said Louis affably, “the Queen is feeling a little unhappy because some of her English friends have to leave for their home. I want you two to look after her, to take their places.”
“Yes, Sire,” said Marguerite, while Claude mumbled inaudibly.
“Go with the Queen back to her apartments and explain to her how useful you intend to make yourselves.”
Feeling foolish and frustrated, Mary left the King’s presence with her two new attendants.
Louis’s delight in his bride grew stronger, and, because he wished to compensate her for the loss of her English attendants, the next day he gave her a tablet covered in diamonds and a pendant of pearls.
Mary accepted the gifts with thanks but inward indifference. She had written at once to Henry and Wolsey telling them of her indignation over the dismissal of her friends, and imploring them to take up this matter with her husband.
But as those days passed she became slightly reconciled for two reasons. The first was that Marguerite had become her friend, and Marguerite was, in truth, much more interesting and entertaining than dear old Lady Guildford could ever be. Marguerite’s mother, Louise of Savoy, was also making herself agreeable and, as the Dauphin sought every opportunity of being in her company, she found that this fascinating trio were helping her through the difficult days.
The other reason was that the excitement of his wedding and the days and nights which followed had been too much for Louis. His gout had become worse and was alarming his doctors.
Louis called Mary to his couch one day and, when they were alone together, he took her hand and smiled at her regretfully.
“My dear,” he said, “I greatly desire to see you crowned and make your ceremonial entry into Paris, but as you see, I am confined to my couch, and my physicians tell me that it would be unwise for me to leave Abbeville for some days.”
“I fancy,” said Mary, “that you have been departing from your quiet life during the last days and this is not good for you. You must rest more.”
“But, my dear, I want you to know how pleased we all are to have you with us, and it is only fitting that we should make merry. It is my wish that the balls and banquets should go on.”
“But you should rest more,” said Mary. “I am your wife and I shall insist that you do.”
He was touched that she could be so concerned for his health, and Mary was quick to seize the advantage. She took on the role of a charming little nurse and gave orders in the King’s apartment.
“This afternoon you shall rest on your couch and I will sit beside you and talk to you if you wish. Or I can be silent.”
What an enchanting creature she was—so young and yet willing to forgo the pleasures of the hunt or the banquet for the sake of her husband.
He told her this, taking her hand and kissing it as he did so; and when she sensed that he was inclined to become amorous she raised a finger and put on a stern expression.
“I am going to command you in this matter. You are to rest; and there must be no excitements.”
He allowed her to take charge. He found it very pleasant to lie back on his couch, the delightful creature beside him, listening to her quaint accent which he found quite fascinating, while she occasionally soothed his hot brow with sweet unguents; and although she allowed him to stroke her arms she was very insistent that caresses should stop there.
“I have to consider what is good for you,” said the charming child.
It was so comforting to realize that she was young and inexperienced, that she accepted his shortcomings as a lover; indeed insisted that he should not exert himself.
Each day he gave her a jewel. He had put several trinkets aside for her, and he doled them out one by one— partly because he was a man who always liked to get the utmost return for what he paid out; partly because she expressed as much pleasure over one small jewel as she would have done over twenty.
He contemplated that rarely had he been so contented in his life, and his greatest regret was that when he had married Mary Tudor he was fifty-two instead of twenty-two.
He did not wish, of course, to allow life to become dull for her. He had dismissed her English attendants because he believed they had too much influence over her, and when she was upset he did not want her to cry in the arms of Lady Guildford but in his. That little disturbance was now settled, thanks to Marguerite de Valois who was as scintillating a companion as anyone could have.
He sent for the Dauphin. Francois came at once to his couch. Louis was not so pleased with Francois; there was something sly about the Big Boy. Outwardly he was too gay, and he could not be feeling gay. If Mary gave birth to a son—not an impossibility—that would be the end of Francois’s hopes; so what had he to be gay about?
Definitely the boy was sly. Now he was doubtless amused because an old man had become too excited over his marriage to a beautiful young girl and consequently had to take to his couch for a few days.
“My boy,” he said, “I have decided to delay leaving Abbeville for a few days. The gout is troubling me and my physicians say I need rest. I cannot therefore escort the Queen as I would like to, and I do not wish that all the balls and banquets should be canceled. As the nobleman of highest rank you should take my place at the Queen’s side.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“The Queen understands. In fact she is most charmingly solicitous of my health. I shall be present at the festivities, but you must lead the Queen in the dance and talk to her when I am weary.”
Francois bowed his head. It was duty he could contemplate with the utmost pleasure.
