He saw his sister’s young maid of honor before they left for France.
He came upon her suddenly in an antechamber as he was about to go to his sister’s apartments. He wondered whether she had arranged that it should be so.
She curtsied prettily, and then as though wondering whether she complied with the English custom, fell on her knees.
“Nay,” he said, “such obeisance is not necessary. Let not beauty kneel to any—not even royalty.”
She rose and stood blushing before him.
“You are a charming child,” he said. “I asked my sister to leave you behind that we might become good friends, but she will not do so.”
“Sire,” said the girl. “My English is not of the best, you see.”
“You should be taught it, my child; and the best way to learn a country’s language is to take up residence in that land. When I was your age and after, I spent many years in your country, and thus I spoke your country’s language.” He began to speak in French, and the young girl listened eagerly.
“Would you like to come and stay awhile in England?”
“But yes, Your Majesty.”
“Stay at Court, shall we say, where I might show you how we live in England?”
She laughed childishly. “It would give me the greatest pleasure.”
“Alas, my sister says she owes an obligation to your parents and must take you back with her.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and drew her towards him. “And that,” he said, “makes me desolate.”
“I thank Your Majesty.”
“Thank me not. Thank the Fates which gave you this beautiful curling hair.” He fondled it tenderly. “This soft skin …” He touched her cheeks and throat.
She waited breathlessly. Then he bent gracefully and kissed her on the lips. There was a movement in the room beyond them.
He said: “Mayhap we shall meet again.”
“I do not know, Your Majesty.”
“Tell me your name before we part.”
“It is Louise.”
“Louise. It is a charming name. What other names have you?”
“I am Louise Renée de Penancoët de Kéroualle.”
“Then adieu, sweet Mademoiselle de Kéroualle; I shall pray that ere long we meet again.”
FOUR
Then Louise de Kéroualle came to England with Charles’ sister, Henriette, Duchess d’Orléans, she was already twenty years old. She looked much younger; this was due not only to her round babyish face but to her manners. These looks and manners were no indication of the real Louise, who was shrewd and practical in the extreme.
As the daughter of Guillaume de Penancoët, the Sieur de Kéroualle, a gentleman of noble lineage, she could not hope for a brilliant marriage, since her family had fallen into poverty and could not provide her with an adequate dowry. Louise, ever conscious of her lineage, was never tired of reminding those who seemed likely to forget it that, through her mother, she was connected with the family of de Rieux. Her position was an unfortunate one—so proud and yet so poor. Louise was older than her sister Henriette by some years, so her problem was the more immediate. She had one brother, Sebastian, who was serving abroad with the King’s armies.
Men could distinguish themselves in the service of their Kings, mused Louise; there was only one way open to women: marriage. Or so she had thought.
She had remained at the convent, where she had received her education, so long that she had thought she would never leave it. She had had visions of herself growing old, past a marriageable age, perhaps taking the veil. For what was there left for noble women, who could not marry with their equals, but the veil?
And then, suddenly had come the summons to return to her parents’ Breton home.
She would never forget the day she arrived at the great mansion, where all the family lived since none of them could afford to go to Court. She had wondered whether Sebastian had distinguished himself, whether the King had honored him, and their fortunes were changed, whether some miracle had happened and a man of wealth and family had asked for the elder daughter’s hand in marriage.
It was none of these things, but it concerned herself.
Her parents received her ceremoniously. Never did her father forget that he was Sieur de Kéroualle, and ceremony in his house was as closely observed as it was at Versailles.
She curtsied before them both and received their embrace. Her father had waved his hand to dismiss the servants, and then he had turned his face to her and, smiling, said: “My daughter, a place has been found for you at Court.”
“At Court!” she had cried, in her excitement forgetting that she should not show her surprise but accept all that was suggested, with the utmost decorum.
“My dear child,” said her mother, “the Duchess d’Orléans is to take you into her suite.”
“And …” Louise looked from one to the other, “this can be done?”
“Indeed it can be done,” said her father. “Wherefore did you think we had sent for you if it could not be so?”
“I … I merely thought it might prove too costly.”
“But it is a great opportunity, and one which we could not miss. I shall sell some land and make it possible for you to go to Court.”
“And we hope that you will be worthy of the sacrifice,” murmured her mother.
“I will,” said Louise. “Indeed I will.”
“In the service of Madame you will meet the very highest in the land. His Majesty himself is often in Madame’s house. They are great friends. I hope you will find favor in the King’s sight, daughter. Much good could come to our family if he found one of its members worthy of his regard.”
“I see, Father.”
They dismissed her then, for they said she was tired from her journey. She went to her room, and her mother followed her there. She made her lie down, and had food brought for her.
While she ate, her mother looked at her earnestly. She stroked the fine curling chestnut hair.
“Such pretty hair,” she said. “And you are pretty, my dear Louise. Very pretty. Different from the Court ladies, I know; but sometimes it is a good thing to be different.”
When her mother left her, Louise had lain staring at the canopy of her bed.
She was to go to Court; she was to do her utmost to please the King. There was something her parents were trying to tell her. What was it?
She quickly discovered.
They talked constantly of the King. The most handsome man in all France, they said; and what a pleasure it was to have a young King on the throne, a King who looked as a King should look. They recalled his magnificence at his coronation; what a fine sight it had been to see him in the ceremonial cloak of purple velvet embroidered with the golden lilies of France, and the great crown of Charlemagne on his noble head. All who had watched in the great Cathedral of Notre-Dame de Rheims had said that this was more than a King; it was a god come among them. He was pink and white and gold, this King of theirs; and he had a nature to match his face—benign and beautiful. It was a pleasure for all to serve him—man and woman alike.
They recalled his love for Marie Mancini, how idealistically he had wanted to marry her; and he would have done so too, had not his mother and Cardinal Mazarin set themselves against the marriage. Of course it would have been quite impossible for the King of France to marry a woman who was not of royal birth, but did it not show what a kindly, what a charming nature he had, to think of the marriage?
What did the King look like? Anyone who wanted to know that only had to read the romances of the day. It was said that, when she described her heroes, Mademoiselle de Scudéry used Louis XIV as her model.
“He is married now, our King,” said Louise regretfully; for she had begun to picture herself in the place of Marie Mancini, and she believed that had she been that young woman she would have married the King in spite of his mother, the unpopular Anne of Austria, and Cardinal Mazarin who was equally unpopular. She and Louis would have conspired together to bring about that marriage.