Louise knew these things. She had a good pair of ears, and saw no reason why they should not be pressed into service. Those shrewd little eyes too were sharp. Louise trained them to miss nothing.
So if Henriette had decided to break free from that iron control which she kept on her feelings, and blurt out the truth to little Louise de Kéroualle, it would not have mattered. She would have told Louise very little that she did not already know.
“We shall stay no longer than two weeks,” said Henriette. “My brothers will meet me at Dover. I doubt I shall have time to visit the Capital.”
“Monsieur will not part with you for longer than that, Madame,” said Louise.
Henriette looked at her quickly, but there was no trace of malice in the babyish face. She is a child, thought Henriette, who was unaware that she was twenty years old—not so very much younger than herself, Louise, looking so unconcernedly youthful, conveyed such an appearance of innocence. I must try to make a match for her before she loses that innocence which is so charming, thought the kindly Madame. May it be a happier one than my own, and may she preserve that faith in life for as long as it shall exist.
“My brother is most eager for the visit,” said Henriette, and her face softened. “It is years since I have seen him.”
“I have heard, Madame, that a great affection exists between you and the King of England.”
“’Tis true, Louise. My childhood was lived in such uncertain times. I saw so little of him. I was with my mother, a beggar almost at the Court of France, and my brother, the King of England, but a wandering exile. We saw little of each other, but how we treasured those meetings! And we have kept our love for one another alive in our letters. Hardly a week passes without our hearing one from the other. I think one of the most unhappy periods of my life was when France and England were not good friends.”
“All France, and I doubt not all England, knows of your love for your brother, Madame. And all is well between England and France at this present time.”
Henriette nodded. “And I hope to make that bond of friendship stronger, Louise.”
Louise knew. She had been present on those occasions when King Louis had visited Henriette. Sometimes they forgot she was present. If they saw her they would think: Oh, it is but the little Louise de Kéroualle—a sweet child but a baby, a little simpleton. She will not understand what we talk of.
So it was that often they disclosed certain secret matters in her presence; often they betrayed themselves.
They loved, those two. Louis would have married Henriette had he not married dull Marie Thérèse before Charles Stuart regained his kingdom. Louise had heard it said that, before that time, Madame had been a shy girl who had not shown to advantage against the plump pink and white beauties so admired by the King of France. But when her brother regained his throne, Henriette’s gaucheries had dropped from her and she emerged like a butterfly from a chrysalis, it was said—brilliant, exquisite, the most graceful, charming, amusing, and clever woman at the Court. Then Louis had realized too late what he had missed; now he contented himself with the shyness of La Vallière and the flamboyant beauty of Montespan, in an effort to make up for all he had lost in Madame.
This interested Louise and she rejoiced therefore when she was chosen to accompany her mistress into England.
So she travelled with Madame to Dover, and all the pomp of a royal visit accompanied them.
She realized that Henriette was uneasy; and she guessed that it was due to the treaty which she was to induce her brother to sign.
Louis had prevailed upon Henriette to do this, and Louise surmised that the treaty, which would be signed at Dover, was one to which the King of France was very eager to have the King of England’s signature. Henriette was uncertain. Louise knew by her abstracted air that she was torn between her love for her brother and the King of France; and Louise knew that the King of France had won. For all her professed love for Charles of England, Henriette was working for the King of France whom she regarded in the light of a lover.
There was one thing to learn from this: emotions should never become involved when it was a question of one’s position in society. For all her cleverness, for all her wit, Henriette of Orléans was nothing but a weak woman, torn by her love for two men.
And so they came to Dover and were greeted, not only by the tall dark King of England, but by his brother, the Duke of York, and his natural son, the Duke of Monmouth.
There were banquets and dancing. The treaty was signed and dispatched to France. The days sped by. Henriette seemed to be indulging in frantic gaiety.
She loved her brother undoubtedly; yet, wondered Louise, how far had she sacrificed him to Louis?
She longed to know. The thought of such plots and counterplots was highly fascinating.
There came the time when they were due to leave the shores of England. Louise would never forget that occasion. It was a moment full of significance in her life, for it was then that new avenues of adventure were opened to her.
The King of England was looking at her with the approval which she had sought in vain to arouse in the King of France. He was referring to her as a brighter jewel than any in the casket which his sister was offering him. Those dark eyes, passionate and slumberous, were fixed upon her. Louise realized then that the King desired her.
This in itself was no unusual thing. The King of England desired many women, and it was rarely that his desires went unfulfilled. Yet Louise, the daughter of a poor Breton gentleman, had already deeply considered what the admiration of a King could mean.
She was blushing now, because the King was asking that she might stay behind in England, and her mistress was telling him that she had her duty to the child’s parents.
Child! They seemed unaware that she was twenty years old.
Louise, considering her age, was filled with sudden panic. What if she failed to fulfill her parents’ hopes? Would she have to return to the convent; perhaps make a marriage which would not lift her from the poverty from which she had determined to escape?
The admiration of kings could do a great deal for a woman. Her thoughts went to Louise de la Vallière—but all were aware that La Vallière was a simpleton who knew not how to exploit her lover. If ever the time came for Louise de Kéroualle to exploit such a lover, she would know full well how to do this to the best advantage to herself.
There was little time left, but she determined to do all in her power to see that the King of England did not forget her. She kept near her mistress because she knew that where Henriette was, there would Charles be.
And then there was that last encounter when she had stood before him.
Louis might like matrons, but Charles was clearly attracted by more youthful charms.
There was no doubt that he was attracted by her. He took her hands, and he spoke to her in her native French. He kissed her with a mingled passion and tenderness, and he told her he would not forget her and that he hoped one day she would come again to England, and that he would teach her the customs of the English.
She railed against the ill fortune which had brought her face-to-face with Charles such a short time before she was due to leave.
She longed to tell him that her parents would have no objection to her staying at the Court of England; that they had hoped she would become the mistress of the King of France, so they would not wish to refuse her to the King of England.
But how could she say these things? She could only stand on the ship, waving farewell and standing close to her mistress, so that the last Charles saw of the departing company was his dear sister and her maid of honor who had so charmed him.