“You are telling me that Claude is jealous … on my account!” Mary’s surprise was clearly feigned, and she meant Marguerite to know that it was.

“François is so clearly attracted to you.”

“Then should you not speak to him? I can assure you that I have done nothing to make Claude jealous.”

“He is impetuous and reckless.”

“I see.” Mary turned her clear gaze on Marguerite. “I certainly think you should warn him in that case.”

Marguerite laid a hand on Mary’s arm. “If the King were to be aware of this …”

Mary said coolly: “I can set your mind at rest. There is nothing in the matter that I am aware of which could give the King the slightest cause for displeasure.”

She was reminding Marguerite that she was the Queen of France, and that she had no wish to discuss the matter further; but secretly she was amused because she had learned a great deal about the relationships of that family. Louise of Savoy had been tortured all through her life by fear that a son of Louis might follow his father to the throne. And now they had actually gone so far as to believe that she might be François’s lover and have a child which she would pretend was Louis’s.

In her present position it was good to have something to laugh at. François greatly desired the crown and yet the need to satisfy his sexual impulses was so demanding that he was prepared to risk the first in order to assuage the second! And the devoted mother and sister were fearfully looking on.

She might have said to them: François shall never be my lover. There is only one who could be that, and he is in England.

But the knowledge of intrigue around her was helping her through these melancholy days.

The royal party had been at Abbeville for almost a fortnight, and Louis was showing signs of recovery. Mary, still acting as nurse, watched him uneasily as she sat by his couch.

He took her hand and said: “Thanks to our ministrations I am beginning to recover.”

“You must be very careful not to exert yourself too much,” said Mary quickly.

“Have no fear. I think we shall be able to leave here within a few days, and our first stop shall be at Beauvais. I have a surprise for you.”

Mary opened her eyes wide in an endeavor to express excitement. A ruby? A diamond? She knew what his surprises usually were and she was beginning to dread them because she must pretend to show enthusiasm which she could not possibly feel.

“We shall have a joust to celebrate your coronation, and I thought that it would please you if we made it a contest between the country of your birth and your adopted one. It would be a symbol of the friendship between us. The people will remember that not long ago we were fighting each other in a real war. Now we will have a mock-battle and see who is the more skilled in the joust.”

“There are few Englishmen here who would be able to give a good account of themselves.”

“I know, and this must be a fair contest. So I thought it would please you if I wrote to your brother and asked him to send over some of his most skilled knights to challenge ours. This I have done.”

For a moment she found speech impossible. She was asking herself: Whom will Henry send?

“I can see that the thought of this match between the two countries please you more than jewels. I am content.”

“You are very good to me,” murmured Mary.

He laughed. “Remember though that you are a Frenchwoman now. You must support us, you know.”

“We shall see,” she answered.

They left Abbeville for Beauvais and as she rode beside the King, acknowledging the cheers of the people, Mary was asking herself the question: Is it possible? Would Henry send Charles?

Louis had said that he was asking that the most skilled men might be sent. In that case Charles must come. For the honor of England he must come. Henry would see to that. Yet, knowing the state of her feelings, would Henry consider it unwise to send Charles?

Rarely had she looked so beautiful as she did then; there was a suppressed excitement in her eyes which did not pass unnoticed by Marguerite.

The Queen is in love? she thought. Has it gone as far as that? Oh, François, beloved, have a care.

It was a golden October day when they rode into Beauvais; and as they reached the mansion where they were to stay for the night, Mary was alert for a sign of the English party.

A banquet had been prepared in the great hall, and she had taken her place at the center table, when the news was brought to the King that the English knights had arrived.

“Have them brought in at once,” was Louis’s answer. “We must give them a good welcome, for they come on behalf of my good brother, the King of England.”

And so the doors were thrown open and as the Englishmen came in, Mary caught her breath with wonder; for they were led—as was only natural that they should be—by Charles Brandon. And there he was coming to the center table, his eyes on the King, betraying only by a twitch of a muscle that all his thoughts were for the young woman who sat silently there, her cheeks aflame, her eyes sparkling as no one in France had seen them sparkle yet.

She must see him. Who would help her now? If only Lady Guildford were with her! But Louis had artfully removed all her English attendants except little Anne Boleyn who, he considered, was too young to influence her.

She dared confide in no one. Marguerite was a friend—up to a point—but only when by being so she could do no harm to her brother. And if she told Marguerite that the man she loved was in Beauvais and she must have an interview with him alone, Marguerite would immediately suspect that Charles might take the place of François in that wild drama she and her mother had conjured up. Therefore, Marguerite would never help her arrange a meeting with her lover—in fact, for the sake of François, might even betray her to Louis.

Perhaps it was natural that she should wish to receive the party from her brother’s Court. If they came to her she could flash a message to Charles who would be ready for it.

This was what she did when, headed by Charles, the Englishmen came to her apartment. Of course her French attendants were present. Nevertheless she must do the best she could.

How happy she was to see him kneeling before her, taking her hand in his, putting his lips to it. She was trying to communicate all her feelings to him, and she knew by the pressure of his hand that he understood.

“It pleases me to see you here,” she said.

He told her that her brother sent her affectionate messages and there were letters which he would bring to her.

“Yes … yes,” she answered.

She must receive the others; she must murmur platitudes to them. She must tell them how excited she was at the thought of the coming joust, and she hoped they would conduct themselves with honor for England.

Oh Charles, she thought, stay near me.

He understood. He was by her side. He said quietly: “Are you happy?”

“What do you think?” Her voice was sharp and bitter.

“You are more beautiful than ever.”

“I must see you alone,” she said. Then added hastily: “Come back in five minutes’ time after the party have gone. I will endeavor to be alone except for young Anne Boleyn.”

He bowed his head and she turned away lest Norfolk, who was with the party, should be suspicious.

Now she was impatient for them to be gone, and afraid that if they lingered much longer the King would come to her apartments.

But at last they went, and she dismissed her attendants, saying that she was going to rest for an hour; and to avoid suspicion kept little Anne with her.

He came back, as they had arranged; and she commanded little Anne to sit on the stool near the door of the main apartment while she drew Charles into a small adjoining chamber. If anyone came to the door, Anne was to tell them her mistress was resting.

It was dangerous, but Mary was ready to take risks. An interview alone with Charles was worth anything she might be asked to pay for it.

They embraced hungrily.

“My love,” said Charles, “I have lived it all with you.”

“Oh, Charles!” She was half laughing, half crying, as she touched his face with her fingers. “I can’t believe it, you see. I have to keep assuring myself that you are here.”

He kissed her urgently.

“We must be careful,” he said at length. “Did you notice Norfolk’s watchful eyes? That fellow hates me.”

“A curse on Norfolk.”

“I agree, my dearest, but he could do us much harm.”

“You mean he could tell Louis that I love you.”

“He could have me sent back to England.”

That sobered her. “Oh, Charles, we must be careful.”

“I should not be here. At any moment we might be discovered.”

“The little Boleyn will give the warning.”

“That child would not protect us. Mary … Mary … what shall we do?”

“When Louis dies and I am free I shall marry where I wish. You know where that will be.”

“But to talk of the King’s death …”

“Is treason, and we should die for it. Then I should not have to spend any more nights in his bed.”

“Hush, Mary. Was it … terrible?”

She shivered. “I lay awake all that first night thanking God and his saints that he was an old man. He apologized for his breathlessness, for his inability. I wanted to shout, Do not apologize to me, Louis. I want to sing Glory to God because of it.”

“And so … ?”

“Do not ask me to speak of it. But he has been ill since. Alas, he tells me he is getting rapidly better. It will begin again. But it won’t be for long, Charles. I feel it won’t be for long. I am certain of it, and that is why I can endure it, because, Charles, I have Henry’s promise that when it is over I shall marry where it pleases me to do so.”