Marriage with a King! It was foolish to dream such dreams.
“He is married now, yes,” said her mother. “He is married to the dumpy little Spanish Princess, Marie Thérèse. She looked well enough in her wedding garments. But divested of them! Oh, I shudder for our beloved King, he who is such a connoisseur of beauty. There will be others.” Her mother lifted her shoulders and smiled tenderly. “How could it be otherwise? I have heard that, when he was very young, he loved Madame de Beauvais.” She laughed aloud. “Madame de Beauvais! Years older than he was—a fat woman—and I have heard that she has but one eye. Yet … he has never forgotten her. He has shown her great favor. There is an indication of the kind of King we have. A King who never forgets to reward those who have pleased him … even if it was only for a short time and long ago.”
Now Louise began to understand. She could not make a brilliant marriage because she had no suitable dot; but if she could become the good friend of the King, all sorts of honors might fall to her; and there were many men who then might wish to share her fortunes. How much more desirable was a royal mistress—even a discarded one—than a penniless virgin!
So to Court came Louise. She was pretty enough, but this prettiness was due to her youthful appearance. Her hair was lovely, so was her complexion, unpitted by the pox and unmarked by any blemish. Her round plump face gave her an innocent expression rare at this time, and this was appealing. Her eyes were rather closely set, and there was a suggestion at times of a cast in one of them. However, she was accounted a pretty young girl; and, because her appearance was not one of conventional beauty, this brought her some attention.
She had been thoroughly schooled in social etiquette, both in her home and in the convent, and as a result of her training was possessed of a natural grace. Her education had not been neglected and she was considered to be a cultured young woman, though lacking in the imagination which would have made her an outstandingly clever one. Louise then, when she came to the Court, was a well-bred, well-educated girl with some pretensions to good looks, certain graceful charm, and shrewd ideas, beneath that calm and babyish brow, of making a comfortable existence for Mademoiselle de Kéroualle.
Louise was a born spy. Her poverty and pressing need had nourished this quality in her. She told herself that it was a matter of great urgency that she must understand all that was going on about her; she had no time to spare. She was already twenty, no longer very young; a place at Court might not remain open to her. Therefore she quickly grasped the state of affairs at St. Cloud.
Henriette d’Orléans, the wife of the King’s brother, and sister to the King of England, was a charming woman—quick-witted, clever, and though no conventional beauty, one of the most attractive women in the Court of le Roi Soleil. Here, thought Louise, was a good model for herself. She studied Henriette and, watching her closely, being her intimate companion, she began to probe her secrets.
Not that Monsieur—Henriette’s husband—made any secret of the life they led together. Monsieur had his mignons, his dear friends who meant more to him than any woman could. Monsieur was the most conceited man in France and Louise discovered that his wife pleased him very much in one respect. There were occasions when he felt proud of her.
Louise understood the meaning of this one day when Louis himself paid a visit to St. Cloud.
This was the first time Louise had seen him. She was prepared. She was looking younger than ever; she kept close to her mistress. Here was her first chance to shine before His Majesty. She wore the most youthful of her gowns and her magnificent hair was elaborately dressed but falling in curls over her shoulders, as a young girl would wear it. She was sure she did not look more than fifteen.
The King came into the apartment, tall and as handsome as he had been made out to be, dressed in cloth of gold trimmed with black lace, diamonds flashing in his hat; he strode to Henriette.
She would have knelt, but he would not allow her to do so. He was agitated, Louise guessed.
He said: “No ceremony, dear sister.”
“Your Majesty has urgent business with me,” said Henriette. “I had hoped to present my new maid of honor, Mademoiselle de Kéroualle.”
Louis’ eyes flickered lightly over Louise.
She came forward and fell to her knees.
He said: “Welcome to the Court, my dear. Welcome.”
She lifted her eyes to his face; this was the moment for which she had longed and hoped. But he was looking at the Duchesse.
“You wish to speak to me alone?” asked Henriette.
“I do wish that,” said the King.
It was the signal for attendants to retire.
One of her companions put her arms about Louise’s shoulders. “Don’t be hurt, my child,” she said. “It is always thus. When he comes, he has no eyes for anyone but Madame. Moreover if you would have pleased him you should not have seemed such a very little girl. His Majesty once liked matrons—now he likes no one but Madame.”
After that she began to understand a good deal.
Here was intrigue which interested Louise, not only because it was of vital importance to her, but because intrigue in any form fascinated her.
When her mistress danced in such a sprightly way, when she joked so readily, when she appeared to be gay, she was really full of sadness; and it was due to the fact that she had married the wrong man—Monsieur—when she loved the King himself.
Louise did not give up hope of attracting the King.
There was a great deal of gossip concerning Louis and his sister-in-law. Louise discovered that both the King’s mother, Anne of Austria, and Henriette’s mother, Queen Henrietta Maria, had pointed this out to the lovers.
It was at this time that the King began to show a little interest in that foolish and perfectly unworthy creature, Louise de la Vallière.
How could he look at the silly creature, Louise de Kéroualle wondered; then she began to understand. It was Madame who had decided that he should pay attention to La Vallière, Madame who had selected the girl. Louise de la Vallière was just the sort whom a woman who was in love would choose, if choose she must. Madame could feel confident that the King would never fall in love with the silly creature.
If only she had chosen me! thought Louise. How different it would have been then!
She thought of her family in their Breton home. They would hear the rumors from the Court. Such rumors always travelled fast. They would shake their heads and perhaps have to sell more of their possessions. Would they say: “Is it worth the expense of keeping Louise at Court?”
One day Madame called Louise to her and said: “Louise, would you like to accompany me to England?”
“To England, Madame?” answered Louise. “Indeed I would!”
“It will be but a short visit.” Henriette had turned away. There was, had she known it, no need for her to curb her tongue; she could have said all that was in her mind, because Louise knew it already.
Louise knew that she longed to get away from her husband, that she longed to see her brother who wrote to her so often and so lovingly. Louise was fully aware of the great affection between her mistress and the King of England. She had heard Monsieur, in one of his wild quarrels with Madame, declare that the love between his wife and her brother was more than that which it was meet and proper for two of such a relationship to share. She knew that, white-faced and horrified, Henriette had cried out to him that he was a liar, and that at that moment her self-control had broken.