“You grow too excited.”

“Can I help that? The one I love is here and I am in his arms. Who would not be excited?”

“I must not stay. You may depend upon it we shall be watched. I don’t trust Norfolk.”

“But you are here … in France. Oh, this is the happiest day I have known since I came to this land. Stay near me, Charles.”

“I shall as long as it is in my power. But, dearest, let us be cautious … for the sake of the future.”

“The future, Charles. I live for it.”

Once more they were in a close embrace. Then he slipped out of the small chamber into the main apartment where the little Boleyn sat, her great dark eyes filled with dreamy speculation.

The royal cavalcade was now journeying across Picardy toward the capital. Louis no longer suffered so acutely and could take pleasure in his bride. Mary’s moods were variable. Sometimes she felt rebellious and there were occasions when she told herself that she could not endure her husband’s embraces; at others she was resigned, for afterward the poor man always seemed so exhausted. Then Charles’s presence in the party made her feel recklessly gay. Life was never dull because all the time she felt as though she were living on the edge of disaster, for with the man she loved so near, she believed she could not continue to control her feelings.

Those about her noticed the change in her. Her beauty had become more vital.

Marguerite, watching her closely, thought: There is a woman in love.

And because it was inconceivable to Marguerite that any woman could be indifferent to François, she naturally thought that Mary was in love with her brother.

François thought so too; and so did Louise. They all felt themselves to be on the verge of an inflammable situation, disastrous from the point of view of them all while it was yet irresistible to François.

Mary became more aware of those two women and, understanding the reason for their apprehension, an innate streak of mischief made her long to mislead them. After all they had first conceived the myth.

There was more than mischief in it; there was sound common sense, because presumably she had been unable to hide the fact that she was in love. No one could think it was with Louis, and they must not guess it was with Charles Brandon. Therefore they must believe it was with François.

Her manner toward the Dauphin was changing; she showed quite frankly how she delighted in his company.

The more nervous Louise and Marguerite became, the more hopeful was François.

And Mary was diverted enough to laugh secretly as she amused herself at their expense.

Louis would not be content until Mary was crowned Queen of France; and as he did not wish to enter Paris until she could do so as crowned Queen he was anxious for the ceremony to take place as soon as possible. He continued to present her almost daily with some jewel; and he told her that he hoped very much to regain his health so that he could be more like the husband she deserved.

She told him—fervently truthful—that she preferred him as he was; which he thought charmingly tactful. He discussed the coming celebrations with her, adding that he thought that tall Englishman would be a good match for the Dauphin.

“I look forward to see them in combat,” he added; “I hear that man is something of a champion at your brother’s Court.”

“I believe the Duke of Suffolk to be second only to my brother in the joust.”

Louis laughed. “A diplomat into the bargain, eh?”

Mary thought then that the French were often a little too subtle; perhaps that was why she enjoyed leading Marguerite and Louise a merry little dance.

“Now, my dear,” said Louis, “I shall be forced to leave you at St. Dennis for a few days, because I must go to Paris. There are matters of state to which I have to give my attention. Your coronation will take place here and then there will be your triumphant journey into the capital. The people of Paris are eagerly waiting to welcome you.”

“I trust they will be pleased with me.”

“They will love you as we all do. I have only one regret and that is that I must leave you.”

Mary kissed him gently on the brow. She did not want him to see the relief which she feared might show in her face.

The King had gone on ahead to Paris, and the coronation was to take place in a few days.

François joined the Queen as she rode out with her attendants.

“It is the only way in which I can have a word with you in private,” he complained.

“You deceive yourself. We are being watched now. Do you not know that we are always being watched?”

“What an evil fate is this? You come to marry the King of France, and I might so easily have been that King!”

“You are rash.”

“Driven to it by your beauty.”

“Do you forget that ears are straining at this moment to hear what you say to me?”

“Surely they do not need to strain. They must guess. What could I be expected to say to the most beautiful woman I have ever seen?”

“You might be expected to be a faithful husband and remember that I am the wife of your King.”

“That would be asking too much of me.”

“I do not think the King would be pleased if he knew that you speak such words to me.”

“It is not my wish to please the King.”

“François, you are very reckless.”

“You shall discover that I can be more so.”

“To what purpose?”

“When can I see you alone that I may explain to you?”

“I am listening now.”

“This needs more than words. If you would come to an apartment I know …”

“I … come to an apartment! I do not think I have heard aright.”

“Disguised of course. We should both be disguised. It can be done. It is always amusing to be incognito. Do you not agree?”

“I have had no experience of that.”

“There are so many delightful experiences waiting for you.”

“And you propose to be my tutor?”

“I should be the happiest man alive if I were that.”

She laughed and slackened her pace so that she was close to those attendants who had fallen back.

François was disappointed, but he was certain he had made some progress. He had met opposition only once, and that was with poor simple little Françoise. The only woman who had ever refused him! But she was a virtuous woman; there had been no fire in Françoise.

How different was this lovely, vital girl.

Passion was strong in her; and he was certain that she was in love.

In the Cathedral of St. Dennis, François, the Dauphin, took the hand of the Queen and led her to the altar. As she knelt on a cushion which had been put there for that purpose, from a quiet corner of the cathedral Louis watched her. He had not wanted the people to know that he was present, because this was her day and he had no wish to distract attention from her.

His eyes were a little misty as he watched her. Tears came easily in age as they had in extreme youth, and he was deeply moved by her beauty. She looked so young in her dazzling robes with that wonderful hair, which he loved to caress, falling about her shoulders. There could never have been a more beautiful Queen of France, and he would never cease to regret that she had come to him in the days of his infirmity.

Cardinal de Brie was anointing her, and she remained still as a statue while the sacred oil was poured on her head. Now the scepter was being placed in her right hand, the rod of justice in her left, the ring on her finger. De Brie held the crown matrimonial over her head; it seemed too massive for that feminine fragility and Louis trusted it would not cause a headache.

The ceremony of crowning her Queen of France was almost over, and she was moving toward the chair of state on the left side of the high altar. It was the duty of the Dauphin to lead her to it; and she in her splendor, he in his elegance, must surely make all consider how well matched they were.

Poor François! Poor Mary! Fate could so easily have given them to each other. If I had died a few months ago, mused Louis, there would still have been a need to make an English marriage. If my poor Claude had not married François, and he had been free …

But it was not so. Life did not work out as smoothly as that. And now this beautiful young girl was his wife, and poor misshapen Claude was united with François.

Louis shrugged his shoulders. When one was old one realized that all glories, all sorrows, passed away in time. In time, yes. For time was always the victor.

They were singing Mass and François had taken his stand behind the chair of state that he might hold the heavy crown over the Queen’s head to relieve her of its weight.

And afterward, to the sound of trumpets the party, accompanied by the leading noblemen and women of France, left the cathedral.

In the royal apartments Louis embraced his Queen.

“You are now truly Queen of France, my dear,” he said. “And it gave me great pleasure to witness your coronation.”

“It was an impressive ceremony, and I trust I did all that was expected of me.”

“You acted with perfect composure as you always do.”

She was momentarily moved because of his pride in her; and she was ashamed because of the many times she had wished him dead. She still did, but she was sorry that it had to be; and she had an impulse then to throw herself on to her knees before him and beg him to understand the motive behind her desires. She wanted to explain: It is not you personally, Louis, for you have shown me nothing but goodness; it is simply that, having been forced to marry when I love elsewhere, I cannot live without hope that I may one day be free.

He was shrewd, she knew; and often she wondered whether he understood more than he let her believe. Had he noticed the change in her since the arrival of the English party? Others had—Marguerite for instance. Marguerite was clever, yet like most people had her blind spot, and that was where her brother was concerned. She thought that every woman must be in love with him and ready to follow when he beckoned; and he had certainly beckoned to Mary.