“Except at home … at Charles’ Court,” said Henriette.

“Foolish child! How could you live at your brother’s Court unless you remain unmarried? That you surely would not wish to do.”

“Mam, I think I should like to live my life as Charles’ sister.”

“Holy Mother of God! What nonsense you talk! You should love your brother, it is true, but verily I believe you and he would carry to excess this affection you bear each other. Charles himself is delighted with the prospect of your marriage. I have heard from him on this matter.”

“What … said he?”

Henrietta Maria came closer to her daughter. “He says he knows that if you marry Monsieur he will always have a friend at the French Court, one who will never forget the interests of England—and the interests of England are Charles’ interests. He says it will be as though his other self is at the Court of France while he is in England. He says he will always love a country of which his dear sister is the Madame. He says he sees peace between France and England through a union which he would rather have for you than any.”

“So he says all that?”

“He does indeed. And he is right. What an opportune moment this is! What glory! Why, had they kept him out of his kingdom another ten years, what would have become of us? What sort of a marriage would you have been able to make? Philippe is the most desirable parti in France. There is only one I would have rather seen you marry. And, mark you, if your brother had regained his kingdom a little earlier, who knows …”

“Mam … Mam … please do not speak of that.”

“Why not, foolish one? We are alone. Moreover it is clear to any who give the matter a thought. Everyone knows that, while it is a good thing to be the wife of the King’s brother, it would have been more desirable to have been the King’s.”

Henriette turned away.

Her mother must not see that she was too emotional to speak. How could she explain to Henrietta Maria that she longed to be Queen of France, not for the glory of that title, not for the honors she would enjoy, but because as Queen of France she would also have been Louis’ wife.

Louis was conscious of his brother and Henriette. They were an attractive pair, he murmured to his wife.

She did not understand, of course. Her knowledge of the French language was limited.

He was smiling at everyone in his usual friendly manner; he accepted the congratulations on his marriage; he showed the utmost deference to his bride, and he would not admit, even to himself, that he was miserably disappointed in her. Louis was not given to frequent analyses of his feelings. Marie-Thérèse was his wife; she was the daughter of the King of Spain; his marriage was highly desirable. Mazarin considered that he had achieved a diplomatic feat of great importance to France by bringing it about; his mother had assured him that one of her dearest wishes was fulfilled. Louis must be pleased with his bride.

But how rigid was Spanish etiquette! And what a scrap of a thing was Marie-Thérèse, divested of her robes of state—small and brown and, it must be admitted, far from beautiful. Louis, who had enjoyed the luscious charms of more desirable and desiring ladies in his pursuit of the doux scavoir, could find little to attract him in his politically admirable match.

Marie-Thérèse never put ceremony aside, even in the bedchamber. During the day she seemed to wish to do nothing but eat, play cards and go to church. She was very greedy. In spite of her rigid adherence to etiquette, her table manners disgusted him. He would see those little black eyes watching the food; and when her own plate was filled she would still have her eyes on some favorite morsel in the dish, terrified lest someone else should be given it before she could announce her preference for it. There was another thing which was worrying Louis; shy and reluctant as she had been during the first night of their nuptials, she was fast overcoming her shyness and with it her reluctance. Often he would find her eyes fixed on him as though he were a dainty morsel in the dish.

She was going to fall in love with him and, as she did so, he was going to find her more and more repulsive.

But at present Louis would not admit this.

The Spanish marriage had been a good thing for France; therefore it was an admirable marriage. And the next marriage in the family should be between England and France. Two brilliant marriages—and so good for the state policy of Mazarin.

Philippe … and Henriette!

She had changed since her brother had regained his throne, and Louis was glad of it. She was less shy. Silly little Henriette, to have cared so deeply because of the humiliation she had suffered! He remembered the occasion when he had not wished to dance with her; he now reproached himself bitterly for that crude behavior.

Dancing in her blue gown, which was decorated with pearls, she was a charming sight. Philippe looked handsome too—and how ardent he was! Philippe ardent … and for a woman! It seemed incredible, but it was true.

He glanced at his bride. She looked well enough in her cloth of silver and multicolored jewels. He tried not to gaze in Henriette’s direction; but his mother, sitting beside him, had noticed his interest in his cousin.

“Philippe and Henriette!” she said. “What a good match!”

“The best Philippe could make,” replied the King.

“So he can be sure of Your Majesty’s consent?”

Mazarin and his mother had already given it, Louis knew; but he kept up the pretence that he himself made all the decisions affecting the policy of France.

“I see no reason why such a marriage, so advantageous to France, should not take place.”

“Philippe was afraid he might not have your consent,” said Anne.

“He need not have been,” snapped Louis, and his sudden rush of anger astonished him. “He’ll get Henriette. Why, no one else would have her.”

“That was before her brother’s triumphant return. She is a more desirable partie now, my beloved.”

“She … she has changed in more than her status.”

“It has made a great difference to her and her mother, and I rejoice to see it. I never thought Henriette so charming before. She seems almost beautiful; and she is so frail, with such a look of innocence. Quite charming. Philippe is eager for the marriage, and it is small wonder.”

Louis said in a mood of unaccustomed ill-temper: “Philippe should not worry. He shall marry the bones of the Holy Innocents.”

Anne looked at him in amazement, but he was smiling fondly at Marie-Thérèse.

Mademoiselle was furious.

The King was married; Philippe was to marry Henriette, and she had always thought that, if she lose Louis, Philippe would be hers for the taking.

What had come over her young cousin? This passion for Henriette had sprung up so suddenly. It was only a little while ago that he was taking sides against her.

Mademoiselle was no longer young. She was past the time for marriage. If she were not the granddaughter of France and its richest heiress she would be alarmed.

She must marry, and her marriage must be one which would not bring shame to her proud spirit.

There was one marriage which would please her more than any—except perhaps with Louis. Yet when she compared the two marriages she thought she would prefer the one still open to her. She would have wished to be Queen of France beyond anything, she supposed, because France was her native land and the Court well known to her; it would have been completely satisfying to spend the rest of her days in France. But to be the Queen of England—married to that fascinating rake, Charles Stuart—would be an exciting adventure.

Had she known he was to come into his kingdom, she would have married him ere this. But it was not yet too late, for he was still unmarried.

She went to his mother and, after kissing her hand, asked permission to sit beside her. Henrietta Maria graciously gave that permission.

No longer an exile! thought Mademoiselle. She is almost condescending to me now. I shall have to let these Stuarts know that I consider it my privilege to walk before their daughter, for the girl is not yet Madame of France.

Henrietta Maria’s fond eyes were on Henriette now.

“A triumphant day for your daughter, Madame,” said Mademoiselle.

“I rejoice to see her so happy.”

“Is she happy? She does not seem entirely so. Do you think she is as eager for this marriage as … others?”

“She will be. She is but a child. Philippe is eager … very eager.” Henrietta Maria stole a malicious look at her niece. “He is as eager to marry her as others are to marry him.”

“Let us hope she will be happy.”

“Who could fail to be happy in such a match, Mademoiselle?”

“There will be matches in plenty in your family now, I doubt not.”

“I doubt not,” said Henrietta Maria. “My son, the King, will not hesitate now.”

“She will be a happy woman whom he chooses.”

“There was a time, Mademoiselle, when you did not consider his wife would ever be in such a happy position.”

“Nor would she have been had he remained in exile.”

“He will remember the days of his exile, I doubt not. He will remember his friends of those days … and those who were not so friendly.”

“Here at the French Court there have always been many to offer him sympathy and friendship.”

“He owes much to his sister Mary.”

“A charming princess. She reminded me of Charles.”

“So you found Charles charming then?”

“Who does not?”

“Many did not during the days of his exile. But I doubt not that the charm of a king—to some—is more obvious than that of a wandering beggar.”