“Madame!” Mary began indignantly, leaping from the couch as she spoke.
Louise, so triumphant, so conscious of the fact that as privileged mother of the King she was in a position to act as familiarly as she cared to with the Dowager Queen, jerked up the Queen’s gown, exposing the layers of petticoats; and not content with that she probed further until she was able to pull at the padding.
Mary shrieked her protest but Louise was in command now.
“A new fashion perchance from England?” asked Marguerite, and there was laughter in her voice.
“Exactly so,” answered Mary. “Did you not like it?”
“It gave you the appearance of a pregnant woman,” went on Marguerite, for she saw that her mother was struck speechless by the mingling of delight and fury.
“Is that so?” replied Mary calmly. “Then that must have pleased some, while it displeased others.”
“Your royal body is more charming in its natural state,” went on Marguerite.
Mary sighed and put her hands on her hips. “I feel you may be right.”
By this time Louise had recovered her speech, and all the anxiety of years was slipping from her. But she had to make sure. She took Mary by the arm and shook her.
“You will tell me,” she said, “that you are
Mary’s mischievous eyes looked straight into Louise’s. The little game was over. She had to tell them the truth.
“Madame,” she said, “I am not with child. I trust that ere long I may have the pleasure of greeting the King and saying, as all his subjects will wish to:
Triumph of the Queen
HE SAT OPPOSITE HER in the mourning chamber. He was at his most handsome and insouciant. The anxiety was over; moreover it was a thing of the past because it had gone forever.
He was jaunty, sitting there, his long, elegant legs crossed, studying her with smiling eyes.
“I am honored,” she told him demurely, “to be visited by the King of France.”
“It is a marvelous thing,” he replied, “that I should have been a King before I was aware of it.”
“Stranger things have happened.”
He laughed suddenly. Then he said: “I trust you enjoyed the game.”
“It was the greatest fun,” she answered frankly.
“It gave my mother and sister much anxiety.”
“And you, I fear.”
“It would seem to me that you are a little
“It is why I have always felt drawn toward you,
“All those weeks of uncertainty! I should have been crowned at Rheims by now.”
“But that is to come, Sire.”
“You should be trembling, so to have duped the King and his family.”
“So should I, did I not know that the King loves a joke—even against himself—as well as I do.”
“Nevertheless, this was beyond a joke.”
“Then, Sire, you are indeed angry. But I do not believe it. You still look at me with such friendship.”
Francois began to laugh and she joined in; she was thinking of young Anne, carefully padding her, and the expression on Louise’s face when she had studied her thickened figure.
“’Twas a good joke, Sire,” she said between her gusts of laughter. “You will admit that.”
“It did not seem so then,” he said, trying to look solemn; but he could not set his face into severe lines, and he was thinking: Why was I not given this girl instead of Claude? He was speculating too. He would marry her to Savoy and she and her husband should be at Court. He would carry on his flirtation with her and, when he was King and she was Duchess of Savoy, there was every hope of their little affair reaching its culmination. He might come to an arrangement with Savoy that the marriage should be one of convenience. Savoy need never be a husband to her and she could be the
He could see a very pleasant future ahead of them, so how could he be angry with her?
“If you were not so beautiful,” he said, “I might decide you should be punished in some way.”
“Then I thank the saints for giving me a face that pleases the King of France—and a body too … although that did not once please him so well.”
“So,” went on Francois, “instead of sending my guards to arrest you and take you to some dark dungeon, I will tell you of the future I have planned for you. I shall never allow you to leave France, you know.”
All the gaiety left her face; she was alert now.
