Well, he was not so little now and he was going to dance with Henriette. He must. Etiquette would demand that he ask first the lady of highest rank and as neither I nor his mother would dance, it would have to be Henriette.

I was seated beside Anne on a small dais. Henriette was just below us; the musicians were there but no one could dance until the King did and he had not yet made his entrance. It would be such a pleasure to sit here beside Anne while we watched our beloved children together. She would have her eyes on Louis all the time but I would point out to her the grace of Henriette and what a charming couple they made…so graceful…so royal.

Louis had arrived. He really did look quite magnificent. He was growing up. He was very sure of himself, very much the King. I glanced at Anne whose eyes were glowing with pride.

Everyone stood up as he entered except Anne and myself and he came to the dais and took first his mother’s hand, which he kissed, and then mine.

Now that the King had arrived the musicians began to play. Louis looked round the company; he seemed just a little bored. Nobody of course could dance until he did and everyone was eager for him to select a partner—which must be Henriette—and open the dance.

Louis did not seem in any hurry. I was watching him closely and I saw his eyes alight on Henriette but instead of approaching her he selected some relation of Cardinal Mazarin—a good-looking woman several years his senior.

The Queen was not very easily aroused to anger but she had always been adamant that etiquette should be observed. Not to do so was one of the few things which could really upset her.

She could not allow this to pass although it would have been easier for us all if she had. She rose rather unsteadily; like myself she had got cramped through sitting too long. She was beside the King just as he was offering his arm to the woman.

“Dearest,” she whispered but so that all those around could hear, “you have forgotten that the Princess Henriette is here. Your first dance should be with her.”

“I shall dance with whom I wish,” retorted Louis.

I could bear no more. This was an insult to my daughter. It had to stop at once. I dashed out onto the floor and laid a hand on Anne’s arm. I said quickly and so that all could hear: “My daughter cannot dance tonight. She has hurt her foot.”

Anne, who rarely lost her temper, did so at that moment. She had, out of the kindness of her heart, arranged this gathering for Henriette. That there should have been a breach of etiquette on such an occasion was more than she could endure and that it should have been caused by her son, who was the very center of her life—with his brother, of course—was enough to make her anger break through her usual lethargy.

I had never seen her so angry. She said: “If the Princess is unable to dance tonight then the King cannot either.”

With that she called Henriette to her. My poor child, overcome with shame, must of course obey the summons. When she was close enough Queen Anne took her hand and rammed it into that of Louis.

“Dance!” she commanded.

Louis looked at the frightened little girl whose hand he held and I think he felt some contrition for he was not naturally unkind and he must suddenly have realized how he had slighted her in the presence of many people.

They danced—but there was no life in either of them. He gave my daughter a rather wintry smile and said: “It is not your fault, Henriette. It is just that I am in no mood for children tonight.”

He was in a somber frame of mind for the rest of the evening. What did that matter? It was spoilt in any case.

The incident had a deep effect on Henriette. More than ever she wanted to get away and join her brother Charles.

The months passed. There was no good news from Charles; he was living that unsatisfactory life of peregrinations to which his fate had driven him. Henry was with him and, said Charles, very happy to be there. He was going to make a fine soldier. I did not want to hear of Henry.

My children were a disappointment to me…except Henriette, and if I could get her married to Louis I would snap my fingers at everything else and say that all I had done was worthwhile.

Meanwhile we went on in this monotonous and most unsatisfactory manner.

Then my daughter Mary proposed to come to Paris.

I was not very pleased with Mary since she had defied me over naming her son. William! What a dreadful name! It could not compare with Charles. I knew that the House of Orange was spattered with Williams but how much more appropriate Charles would have been…in loving memory of her father and in hope for her brother. But Mary had to be obstinate, as her brothers were. She had to have her way and was more influenced by that overbearing mother-in-law of hers than by me. So naturally I was not feeling very pleased with my daughter.

She had written that she had not been well for some time and thought a trip to Paris would be beneficial to her. I wrote back and said that she would probably like to stay at Chaillot which was ideal for an invalid who needed to rest.

Mary very soon made it clear that she had not come to Paris to rest. She had brought with her a collection of clothes and jewels with which she hoped to impress the French Court. They must have cost a great deal, I commented; I did not add that it was money which might have gone to her brother’s cause, but I implied it. Of course I had to admit that Mary had done a great deal to help Charles and she had always made her Court a haven for him when he needed it. I was, naturally, a little angry with her still about being so insistent in getting her own way over the name of her son.

I had to admit that she was very pretty; she had lovely brown hair with a tinge of red in it and eyes like topaz. Not only did she not wish to stay at Chaillot but expressed only the mildest interest in my beautiful retreat. Her gaiety and good looks made her very popular and the Queen immediately liked her and made sure she was invited to meet all the most interesting people at the Court.

I was pleased that she was popular and then I noticed that in her retinue was Edward Hyde’s daughter and I thought it most inconsiderate of Mary to have brought the girl to Paris.

“I never liked Edward Hyde,” I said. “I cannot understand why your brother thinks so highly of him.”

“Because he is clever, Mam,” retorted Mary. “Charles needs men like Edward Hyde about him. All rulers should have such men to rely on.”

“I never liked him,” I said firmly. “You know this and yet you bring his daughter in your train.”

“I quite like the girl.”

“But you know I would rather not see any of the Hyde family.”

“I do not feel so and being mistress in my own household I choose those I like.”

I was hurt. I could not understand why my children were so inconsiderate toward me.

I was quite amused, however, when the Queen made it known that she thought it inappropriate for widows to dance, which meant that Mary had to sit beside the Queen and me to watch. She was not really very old and she did seem to forget that she was a widow. I wondered whether she would marry again and whether I should be looking round for a suitable husband for her. It would not surprise me if she told me that was no affair of mine.

One of the balls given for Mary was that of the Duc d’Anjou. The Duc was there looking what I can only describe as “pretty.” He had such a flair for clothes and the colors he chose were quite exquisite. His jewelry was lovely too. The Queen confided in me that young Philippe was not in the least like his brother. Louis was all for manly sports but Philippe liked better to discuss clothes, to design them and choose materials; and he had said that he liked women’s clothes better than men’s and oddly enough sometimes dressed in them. He was a graceful dancer and when he partnered Henriette they looked beautiful dancing together. I think they were acknowledged to be the best dancers in the Court and this made quite a bond between them. But what pleased me most about the ball was that the King was there, and this time, without hesitation, he chose Henriette to open it with him. It showed my little girl was growing up and could no longer be regarded as a child.

I prayed fervently that Charles would regain his throne and that Louis and Henriette would marry. Anne had hinted to me that she was very fond of Henriette and that she would welcome her as a daughter-in-law if it were possible for the pair of them to marry, of course.

But Louis was the King of France and Henriette…? Well she was the daughter of a king who had lost his throne with his head, and the sister of a king who had not yet regained that throne and showed little sign of doing so.

“Oh Lord,” I prayed. “Give Charles his throne…soon, and Henriette, Louis.”

All the festivities at that time were in honor of Mary. The King commanded that a ballet should be performed for her pleasure; and of course Henriette danced in it. The Queen gave a banquet for Mary, and the Grande Mademoiselle, not to be outdone although still in exile from the Court, invited her to the Château of Chilly where she put on a very grand entertainment. Mary and Mademoiselle got on remarkably well. I couldn’t help feeling that Mary was a little too talkative and that Mademoiselle led her on, and I was sure she was going to repeat everything Mary said so I hoped my daughter would not be too indiscreet. When I saw the lavish manner in which Mademoiselle entertained I thought again what a suitable wife she would make for Charles, and I deeply regretted that all that money which was being wasted on lavish clothes, jewels, food, wines and spectacle could not be used to raise an army for Charles.