But the people had come out of their farms and cottages to stare at him as he rode by. He believed that they laughed behind his back at his haughty looks, and he heard murmurs which he knew he was intended to hear.

“All these riches, and for a bastard!”

“Is it to provide jewels for the Pope’s bastard that we have rewarded our priests? Have we paid for our indulgences that these jewels might be bought?”

“What splendor! Our mighty King is as a beggar beside this one—and he a petty Duke of Valence!”

They were hostile. He should have come more humbly, had he wished to impress the French.

Cesare felt from the first moment that they were sneering at him, that Louis’ old wool cloak and stained beaver hat were worn to call attention to the tastelessness of the upstart Duke—who was but a bastard. Cesare was among foreigners and he was made to feel it.

He vividly remembered his first meeting with the King at Chinon where the French Court was at that time. Louis was too clever to reproach him for his splendor or to show that he had noticed it; but he told Cesare that Carlotta of Naples was with Anne of Brittany and it would depend on the future Queen when they would be allowed to meet.

Cesare suspected treachery, and withheld the Bull of Divorce.

Was it not a business arrangement? Was not the price of the Bull, marriage as well as French titles and estates?

That was not so, Louis pointed out when Cesare continued to withhold the Bull; for he was a man to keep his word, and how could he bargain with that which was not his to offer? Cesare had his estates. He was indeed Duke of Valence; and he had what Louis had promised, his permission to seek marriage with Carlotta. Louis had paid in full; he now demanded the Bull of Divorce.

It was then that Cesare began to respect these people, and to realize that he must be more discreet in his demands. There was nothing to do but hand over the Bull to Louis, who, delighted with what he had got, set about making plans for his marriage, and told Cesare that he too was free to go ahead with his courtship.

But the months had passed and opportunities were denied Cesare. Anne of Brittany had promised him nothing, she implied. She did not greatly desire marriage. It was the King who was the ardent suitor.

Cesare did not doubt that, once he had a chance to woo the girl, she would soon be his wife. He was conscious of the whispering that went on around him; he guessed what was being said in Rome, and that his enemies there, who would not have dared to mention his name while he was in Rome, would now be writing their epigrams on the walls.

Carlotta was conscious of him now. Her eyes often strayed in his direction. He smiled at her and brought into full play all that fascination which had been wont to bring Italian women at his bidding.

She sat eating, pretending to be absorbed in her food and the conversation of the man at her side. How insulting of the King and Queen to let her sit beside that man! And who was he? He was fair-haired and smooth-skinned. Cesare was conscious nowadays of others’ skins, because his had never regained its youthful smoothness, and this defect, although mitigated by his strikingly handsome features, irritated him.

He demanded of his neighbor: “Who is that man seated next to the Lady Carlotta?”

The answer was a lift of the shoulder. “Some Breton baron, I believe.”

Clearly, thought Cesare, a man of no importance.

And when the feasting was over and there was dancing, the Queen evidently remembered her obligations, for she called Carlotta to sit beside her and when she was seated there she sent for Cesare to come to her.

Carlotta of Naples looked at the man of whom she had heard so much, Cesare Borgia whose scandalous behavior with her cousin Sanchia had been spoken of even in France. She compared him with the gentle Breton baron, and she said to herself: “Never … never! I’d rather die.”

Cesare bowed over her hand. His eyes would have alarmed her had she not been in this crowded ballroom and felt the cool protectiveness of the Queen.

“Have we Your Majesty’s permission to dance?” asked Cesare of the Queen.

Anne replied: “My lord Duke, you have mine if you have the lady’s.”

Cesare took Carlotta’s hand and almost pulled her to her feet. Carlotta was too astonished to protest; Cesare clearly did not understand the etiquette of the French Court. No matter. She would dance with him, but never, never would she marry him.

He was graceful; she had to admit that.

He said: “These French dances, how think you they compare with our Italian ones—or our Spanish ones?”

“Your Italian ones! Your Spanish ones!” she answered. “I have spent so long in France that I say my French ones.”

“Do you not feel that it is time you left France and returned to your home?”

“I am happy here. The Queen is kind to me and I love her dearly. I have no wish to leave her service.”

“You lack the spirit of adventure, Carlotta.”

“Perhaps,” she said.

“But that is wrong of you. There is so much in life to be enjoyed if you go out to seek it.”

“I am fortunate in having found so much that I do not have to seek,” she answered.

“But you are so young. What do you know of the adventures and pleasures which the world has to offer?”

“You mean such as those you enjoy with my cousin?”

“You have heard stories of me then?”

“Your fame has reached France, my lord Duke.”

“Call me Cesare.”

She did not answer but appeared to be concentrating on their steps.

“You know why I am here,” he said.

“Yes. You come to collect your dues—the price asked for the King’s divorce!”

“How French you are! All decorum one moment; all impetuosity the next. I confess I find the combination fascinating.”

“Then, as my frankness does not offend you, I will be even more so. I know your intentions concerning myself.”

“That pleases me. Now we can dispense with a long courtship.”

“My lord Duke, I have had no word from my father that I may look upon you as a suitor.”

“We shall soon have that.”

“In that you are mistaken.”

“You do not know me. I do not flinch at a little opposition.”

“Yet you, my lord, who feel such devotion toward legitimacy—for if you do not, why did you not wait for my cousin Sanchia who is so much more beautiful than I and for whom, if rumor does not lie, you have already some affection—seem to have so little regard for the same devotion in others.”

He flushed angrily. The girl, for all her prudery, had a sharp tongue and he was in no mood for a protracted wooing; he had dallied long enough, and he was becoming a laughing stock—which he found intolerable—both in France and in Italy.

“Legitimacy,” he retorted, “is invaluable to those who lack qualities which make it unimportant.”

“And you, my lord, are richly endowed with such qualities?”

He gripped her hand and she winced. “You will soon discover how richly,” he retorted.

He relaxed his grip on her hand and she murmured: “You scowl, my lord Duke. I pray you do not. It will appear that you are not satisfied with your partner. If that is the case, I beg of you, conduct me to the Queen.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” he answered, “until I have had an opportunity—for which I have been waiting ever since I set foot in this country—of talking to you.”

“Then, my lord, I pray you talk.”

“My first purpose in coming to France is to make you my wife.”

“You forget, my lord, that I am a Princess of Naples and that you should not speak thus to me unless you have first obtained the consent of my father.”

“It is the wish of His Holiness.”

“I did not mean the Holy Father. I mean the King, my father.”

“He knows it is the Pope’s wish that our marriage should take place.”

“Nevertheless, my lord, I have received no instructions that I may listen to you.”

“They will come.”

“My lord will understand that, as an obedient daughter, I must wait for those instructions.”

“You are clearly a lady of strong character. I can see that you are one who would make up her own mind.”

“You are right. I have made up my mind to wait for my father’s instructions. I see that the Queen signs for me to return to her. Will you conduct me to her?”

“No,” said Cesare.

She had, however, disengaged herself and, dropping a curtsey, she turned slowly and walked back to the Queen.

Cesare stood for a few seconds glowering after her; then he realized that amused eyes were watching him. He found a bold-eyed girl and turned his attentions to her, but all the time he was seething with rage which he was finding it difficult to hide for he was still conscious of Carlotta who was being much more charming to the insignificant Breton nobleman than she had been to him.

Louis summoned Cesare to his presence. The shrewd eyes of the French King took in the elaborate doublet, the jewels which glittered on hands and neck. Cesare found it difficult to suppress irritation when he was in the presence of the King of France. That determined lack of expression was more galling than jeers would have been. Cesare believed that the King’s mild appraisement of his finery meant: We understand why you must deck yourself so, my bastard Dukeling. These gewgaws would seem very precious to a bastard, who has just escaped from his Cardinal’s robes.

In France Cesare had had to learn restraint, and that was not easy for one of his temperament.

He knelt before the King, and he fancied that Louis took a sly delight in keeping him on his knees longer than he would another.