‘Take care,’ he said, ‘of Monsieur de Bourbon.’

Her radiant smile was reward enough, he decided; and he continued to think of her after he left her.

Thus he was in no mood for petulant Mademoiselle de Tiercelin. A delightful child, he thought, but pert, far too pert. She needed discipline, which he found it hard to administer.

He sent for Le Bel when he returned to Versailles.

‘I believe,’ he said, ‘that we promised Monsieur and Madame de Tiercelin that we would educate their daughter in a manner to fit her for the station she might one day be called upon to occupy.’

‘We did, Sire.’

‘Then pray make arrangements for her to leave for a convent where she will receive that education.’

‘It shall be done, Sire,’ said Le Bel.

The Court now knew that the King had temporarily tired of his naughty little playmate and had returned to the more dignified liaison with the statuesque Mademoiselle de Romans.


* * *

The dreams of Madeleine de Romans were centred in the boy with those dark blue eyes which, declared everyone who saw him, proclaimed him the son of the King.

She refused to let any of her servants bathe or dress him. He slept in her room and she herself fed him. She was terrified of allowing anyone to touch him, for how could any but herself understand how precious he was!

As she suckled him she would imagine the glories which would come to him. He had been baptised in the name of Bourbon, so she would induce the King to acknowledge him publicly as his natural son. In time she would persuade the King to legitimise him. Why should he not? Had not Louis Quatorze legitimised some of his illegitimate sons?

He would become a Comte, a Duc. He would have a safe place at Court. He would grow up so handsome that everyone would love him.

‘My little one,’ she murmured, ‘your fortune is made. One day you will be one of the great men of France . . .’ She amended that. ‘One day you will be the greatest man in France.’

She was so sure that her plans would materialise that she was determined he should be treated from the very beginning of his life as a royal Bourbon.

All her servants must follow her example and call the child Highness. Everyone must bow before approaching him, and as soon as he was old enough she took him driving in the Bois. He rode alone in the carriage, while she sat in the front with the driver, as a governess might have sat. She wished the world to know that she, his mother, was far beneath him socially.

This caused a great deal of comment and, as it was known that the boy had been baptised in the name of Bourbon, rumours were soon in circulation that the King had promised Mademoiselle de Romans to acknowledge her child as his son.

Madame du Hausset heard this news and hastened to bring it to the Marquise.

‘It is a dangerous situation, Madame,’ she pointed out.

The Marquise was wistful. If only she had borne Louis a child such as this one was reputed to be!

‘It has usually been his custom to marry them off when they become pregnant,’ mused the Marquise.

‘Yes, Madame. There can be no doubt that his feelings for this one are different.’

‘It is a pity. What of this young Tiercelin?’

‘She is now attending a school in Paris, Madame. She was sent there soon after the child was born.’

‘What is the child like? Is he as beautiful as his mother?’

‘He is said to be very handsome, Madame, with a striking resemblance to His Majesty. Mademoiselle de Romans is so proud of him that she takes him to the Bois every afternoon and suckles him in public.’

Madame de Pompadour was thoughtful for a few moments, then she said: ‘Hausset, this afternoon we will take a walk in the Bois.’


* * *

The Marquise with Madame du Hausset left their carriage and walked under the trees.

It was a warm afternoon, but the Marquise wore a scarf, wound loosely round her neck, in which the lower half of her face was hidden. The wide-brimmed hat shaded her eyes.

There were not many people in the Bois that day; therefore Madame du Hausset had no difficulty in leading her mistress to that spot where Mademoiselle de Romans sat under a tree, suckling her baby.

Madame du Hausset approached the mother and child.

‘Forgive me, Madame,’ she said, ‘but that is a very beautiful child.’

Mademoiselle de Romans smiled dazzlingly. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I entirely agree.’

‘My friend wants to see him. She is suffering from acute toothache at the moment.’

‘I am sorry to hear that,’ said Mademoiselle de Romans. ‘It can be so very painful.’ She looked at the Marquise who, covering her face more closely in the fold of the scarf, had approached. She held out the child and the Marquise bent to look at him.

‘Delightful, delightful,’ she mumbled.

‘Does he take after you or his father?’ Madame du Hausset asked.

Mademoiselle de Romans could not suppress the satisfied smile which spread over her face.

‘I am told that there can be no doubt whatever that he is his father’s son,’ she said, smiling. ‘I am sure you would agree with me if I told you who he is.’

‘Have I the honour of his acquaintance?’

Again that smile showed itself at the corners of Mademoiselle de Romans’ mouth. ‘I think,’ she said demurely, ‘that it is very likely that you have seen him.’

‘It was kind of you to show us the lovely little creature,’ added Madame du Hausset. ‘You must forgive us the intrusion.’

‘Mesdames, it was a pleasure indeed. You have been most kind.’

As they went back to the carriage, Madame du Hausset knew that the Marquise was disturbed.

‘Rumour does not lie about the child,’ she said. ‘He is indeed a perfect specimen. As for the mother, she is very beautiful.’

Meanwhile Mademoiselle de Romans continued to smile.

She kissed the baby’s dark head and whispered: ‘Did they think to deceive me? Did they think I did not recognise them? That was Madame de Pompadour herself with the faithful Madame du Hausset. And they came here to see your precious Highness. Now we know it cannot be long. Did she not say you were a beautiful creature? Soon you will be publicly acknowledged, my precious. Then all the world will know that you are the son of the King – and once you are acknowledged, my darling, there will be no end to the honours I shall ask for you; and because you are quite irresistible you will get them.’

It was a very contented Mademoiselle de Romans who sat with His Highness in the Bois that afternoon.


* * *

Mademoiselle de Romans found it very difficult to restrain her exuberance. She told her servants the reason for it.

‘It cannot be long now before His Highness is legitimised,’ she said. ‘He has already won the approval of Madame de Pompadour. I believe His Majesty sent her to the Bois to see my son, to assure her that he is all his father believes him to be.’

The servants were a little dubious. Madame de Pompadour would surely be a little envious of His Highness.

‘Oh no,’ said Mademoiselle de Romans, ‘he is so disarming. People only have to look at him to love him.’

‘Madame,’ suggested her servants, ‘when His Highness is honoured, it will follow that his mother must be also.’

Mademoiselle de Romans conceded that this must be so.

It was impossible for his fond mother to restrain her pride. When she took the child to the Bois and people stopped to admire him, she found herself explaining who he was, and why he was called Highness. She hinted that he was certainly soon to be recognised.

The whisper went round Paris. How beautiful is the King’s petite maîtresse, and her son is surely one of the loveliest children in Paris. Did you know that he is about to be acknowledged as the King’s son? The Marquise will have to look to her laurels, eh? Petite maîtresse, indeed. Depend upon it the mother of that child is aiming to be received at Versailles as maîtresse-en-titre.


* * *

The Marquise was strolling with the King in the gardens. They passed the Orangerie and were gazing at the Pièce d’Eau des Suisses when the Marquise said: ‘Mademoiselle de Romans is creating a little gossip in the capital, I fear.’

The King’s expression hardened slightly, but the Marquise was more sure of herself than she had been before the Damiens affair and she felt this to be a matter with which she must proceed, even at the risk of offending the King.

‘The child is certainly beautiful,’ she went on. ‘One can understand her pride in him. But I think that the woman has lost her sense of proportion, and that can be so dangerous for herself . . . and others.’

Louis paused and then said: ‘She has lately written several letters to me.’

‘Indeed! That is a little presumptuous.’

‘She has suddenly become obsessed with an idea that I intend to acknowledge the child.’

‘It would seem that she is trying to force Your Majesty to a decision. That is unwise of her.’

‘She is a proud mother,’ said the King almost tenderly.

‘Pride can be dangerous. Perhaps it is a pity that Mademoiselle de Romans was never at Versailles. Here she might have learned to behave with decorum. Her conduct at present is . . . a little vulgar, do you not think so?’

‘It was never so before the birth of the child,’ said the King. ‘I think we must blame the maternal feelings.’

The Marquise was growing more and more apprehensive. The King was actually making excuses for the woman. This could mean only one thing. She was more than a petite maîtresse to him. He had not thought of casting her off. The Marquise knew the King well enough. Let Mademoiselle de Romans find him in the necessary indulgent mood and all her requests would be granted.