“Come,” said the King, “she is Lucy’s girl. You knew Lucy well, did you not?”
“Even as did Your Majesty.”
“I have placed my son in a household where he will be brought up in accordance with his rank. You should do the same for your daughter.”
“Ah, the boy is lucky. It is a simple matter for a King to command others to care for his bastard. It is not so simple for a humble knight.”
“It should not be a task beyond the strength of such as you, Henry.”
“Poor little Mary! They have been brought up together, those two. It is a sad thing that one should have a future of bright promise and the other …”
“What do you mean, Henry? They’re both bastards.”
“But one is known to be the King’s bastard. The other, bastard of a humble knight. A King’s bastard is equal to any man’s son born in wedlock. It is not such a bad fate to be a King’s bastard. Poor Mary! And, for all we know, she might have been … she might have been …”
“She could not have been! I have a good alibi, Henry. I know I am far from impotent, but I am not omnipotent. My children are as the children of other parents. They grow as other children … before and after birth.”
“Many have thought her to be your child, Sire. You can be sure Jemmy boasted that he had a King for a father.”
“Are you suggesting that I should take upon myself the responsibility of fathering the child?”
“Sire, you have had children already, and there will be many more, I doubt not. Can one little girl make such a difference?”
“You’re insolent, fellow! You would shift your responsibilities on to me, when it is a King’s privilege to shift his responsibilities on to others. Did you not know that?”
“’Tis so, Sire!” sighed Henry. “Alas, poor Mary! The poppet has set her heart on having a King for a father. Your Majesty has charmed her as you charm all others. She is, after all, a woman.”
Charles said: “Oh … put the girl with a good family then. Give her a chance such as Jemmy will have.”
“In Your Majesty’s name, Sire? Mary will bless you all her days. She’s Jemmy’s sister, remember. You know how you love to please the ladies, and this little lady will be but one more.”
“You may get you gone from my presence,” said the King with a laugh. “First you steal my mistress when my back is turned; and not content with that you cajole me into fathering your daughter!”
He strode away laughing. He had been enchanted with little Mary; he wished she were in truth his child. But as Henry said: What did one more matter? The children would be well cared for, well nurtured; and Lucy—poor Lucy—could rest in peace.
He had thought at that time that his chances of regaining his throne had improved; alas, he had hoped too soon.
He went to Holland, where, on the strength of his hopes, the Dowager Princess of Holland smiled on his betrothal to Henriette of Orange. She was a charming girl, and Charles found it easy to fall lightly in love with her. But the romance was upset for two reasons: Most important, the Dowager Princess realized that Charles was not to be recalled and would doubtless remain an exile; and secondly, even while courting Henriette he had become involved in a scandal with Beatrix de Cantecroix, a very beautiful and experienced woman who was the mistress of the Duke of Lorraine.
Charles left Holland for Boulogne where he planned to journey to Wales and Cornwall, there to gather an army and fight for his throne.
But his plans were discovered by the enemy, and once again they came to nothing.
He decided then to see Mazarin and ask for France’s help in regaining his crown.
Mazarin was already in negotiation for a peace with Spain, and Charles was treated with the utmost coldness.
And so it seemed that, nearly two years after Cromwell’s death, his position was as hopeless as it had ever been.
The French Court travelled south. In the eyes of Mazarin this journey was very necessary. There had been rioting in some southern towns, and a great deal of dissatisfaction had followed the arrest of certain men, some of whom had been hanged, others sent to the galleys.
Mazarin believed that a sight of the handsome King, together with his most gracious and benign manners, would rouse new feelings of loyalty in rebellious Frenchmen.
But that was not the only reason why the Cardinal so favored this tour.
He was considering a peace treaty with Spain, and his experience had always taught him that the best cement for securing peace was a marriage between the members of the two countries concerned.
Philip IV of Spain had a daughter—Marie Thérèse—and she would be a fitting bride for Louis.
Louis knew of this, and realized the importance of such a match. For two years there had been war between France and Spain; and unless real peace could be made between the two countries, doubtless ere long there would be war again. Marriage was one of a King’s first duties, providing it was the right kind of marriage; and Louis was ever conscious of his duty.
When Marie Mancini had been sent away from the Court he had turned to her elder sister Olympia who had married the Count of Soissons. He was soon deep in romantic love again, and gave balls in honor of the lady when he was not gambling in her house until three in the morning.
The Queen and Mazarin watched this friendship. “There is nothing to fear,” said Anne to the Cardinal. “She is married, and he is safe with her. It is the romantic attachments to unmarried ladies which bother me. My Louis is so noble; he loves like a boy of sixteen still.”
The Cardinal nodded; he was eager to reach the Pyrenean frontier.
Philippe was pleased because his favorite, the Comte de Guiche, travelled with the royal party.
The Comte was an extremely handsome young man with bold dark eyes and a dashing manner; Philippe had admired him from his earliest days and had commanded that the Comte should be his special companion. De Guiche was clever, witty and very sure of himself. Moreover, being a married man, he seemed knowledgeable in the eyes of Philippe. The young Comte had married—most reluctantly—when he was very young indeed, a child who was heiress to the great house of Sully; he had never had the slightest affection for his young wife, avoided her as much as possible, and was content to be the bel ami of the King’s brother.
He was of the noblest family—that of the de Gramonts. His father was the Maréchal who enjoyed the affection as well as the respect of the royal family. The young Comte had grace of person; he excelled in social activities such as the ballet, which Louis had made so popular; he knew exactly how to please Philippe, and Philippe declared that he simply could not exist without his dear friend.
De Guiche had quickly discovered that one of Philippe’s chief wishes was to be told that he was in reality as attractive as Louis. It was clear to the sly young Comte that Philippe had suffered much through his proximity to his royal brother. Louis was tall; Philippe was short. Louis was handsome in a masculine mold; Philippe was almost pretty in a girlish way; he had beautiful dark eyes, long lashed; he was graceful, almost dainty, and he accentuated his good points by means of jewels and cosmetics. Philippe must be constantly assured that he, in his way, was as attractive as Louis, and de Guiche’s task was to assure him of this without saying anything which could be construed as disrespectful to the King. This was not easy, and there were occasions when de Guiche grew bold in his confidences with the young Prince.
As they journeyed through Marseilles—that turbulent town which had been more rebellious than most—and the people looked on their young King, those who had been ready to condemn the royal house experienced a quick change of mind. How could they do anything but express their love and loyalty to this handsome Apollo who rode among them, bowing and smiling, telling them that he was their “Papa Louis,” that he was their King who loved them?