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Her eyes filled with sudden tears, and he saw them.

Then suddenly understanding came to him. So many women had loved him; here was another.

He was silent as they continued the dance, but she was no longer silent. She was beautiful and vivacious tonight, and she knew that this was the beginning of a new life for her. She knew that all in the vast room watched her and marveled at the change in her. She could almost hear their voices, see the question on their lips: Is this little Henriette, the quiet little Princess who was so shy, so thin, so ready to hide herself in a corner? Has marriage done this? So all that charm and gaiety was hidden beneath those quiet looks!

Louis was enchanted. He did not notice Madame de Soissons. He could not bring himself to leave Henriette’s side; and she felt recklessness sweep over her. She had been unhappy so long because he had failed to find her attractive.

Now she was happy; she could live in the moment. At last Louis had looked at her and found the sight a pleasing one.

He said to her: “Now that the Queen is indisposed, there is much you can do to help me. We shall need a lady to lead the Court. My mother has felt the Cardinal’s death sorely, my wife is indisposed …”

“I shall do my best to prove a good substitute,” she murmured.

“Substitute!” said Louis. “Oh … Henriette!”

“Your Majesty finds me changed. Have I changed so much? I am still thin.”

“You are as slender as a willow wand.”

“Still the bones of the Holy Innocents! Do you remember?”

“You shame me,” cried Louis. “I am thinking what a fool I was. Henriette, what a blind, stupid fool!”

“Your Majesty …”

“I think of what might have been mine, and what is. I might have been in Philippe’s place. I might …”

She broke in: “Your Majesty, what would I not have given to see you look at me thus a year ago!”

“So you …”

“Do you doubt that any who look upon you could fail to love you?”

“What can we do?” said the King. “What a tragedy is this! You and I … and to know this … too late!”

She said: “We are princes, and we have our duty. But that will not prevent our being friends. It is enough for me to be near you and see you often.”

“Yes, often. It shall be so. Henriette … you are the most perfect being of my Court, and you are … Philippe’s wife!”

So they were together and Madame was gay that night.

This is the happiest time of my life, she told herself.

Philippe watched his wife and his brother with immense satisfaction, for at last he had that which Louis coveted. Here was his revenge for all the boyhood slights.

Louis wanted Henriette, and Henriette was Philippe’s wife.

EIGHT

Henriette began to be happy as she had never been happy before.

Louis loved her; he sought every opportunity of being with her. She was to reign over the Court with him; he reproached himself a hundred times a day because he might have married her, but had been a blind fool; he realized that he had never been indifferent to her, that those stirrings of pity which she had aroused in him had, in fact, been true love. He saw himself as a simpleton, a man who had never thought for himself because there had been others to think for him, a man who had never explored his own mind, because there were so many to tell him he was perfect, more god than man. He had never been given to self-analysis. Why should he? He had been told he was perfect. He had been taught to vault and ride, to show off his physical perfections rather than to study and use his brains.

He saw himself for the first time as a man who had been duped by his own simplicity. Beside him, loving him, had been the perfect companion, and he had failed to see in her more than a sad little cousin, worthy of his pity.

If Henriette had changed, so had Louis. He was no longer the puppet King. Mazarin was dead, and he intended to be the true King of France. He had grown up through the realization of his love for Henriette; he was a simple boy no longer; he was a man who would also be a King.

Now he began to show his mother that she could no longer lead him. He, Louis, would decide.

He seemed to increase his stature. He was at least three inches taller than most men at Court, but he seemed more than that in his high heels and his wig of stiff frizzed hair which rose straight up from his brow adorned with the broad-brimmed plumed hat. He was a magnificent figure, the leader of the Court, as he had never been before.

In those weeks it was enough for Louis—as it was for Henriette—to know themselves loved by the loved one. Their relationship seemed to them the more perfect because, as they saw it at this time, it could never reach its natural climax. It was romantic love which seemed to gain beauty from the fact that it could not reach that climax and therefore would go on forever at the same high level. Both Louis and Henriette were too well-versed in the etiquette of the Court to believe that Henriette could ever be his mistress—not only because of their marriage vows, but because of the close relationship which Henriette’s marriage with Philippe had brought about.

Fontainebleau made a perfect setting for their romance. There in the gilded salons, Louis whispered to Henriette that he loved her; he told her the same thing as they wandered through the gardens. He enjoyed establishing an unceremonious rule at his beloved Fontainebleau, at this time his favorite palace. He would be there with Henriette, the Queen of his intimate Court; he would walk among his friends, joining their games of billiards and piquet when the fancy took him. Always Henriette was beside him, his hand resting lightly on her arm, his candid eyes alight with affection; they would discuss together the rebuilding of Versailles, planning the long gallery with its border of orange trees to be set in boxes of silver and to be lighted by candles in rock crystal lusters. Through the shrubberies and groves they wandered when they wished to be alone; under trees and past bushes which they planned to take from these woods of Fontainebleau to beautify the gardens of Versailles and make a charming setting for its statues and its waterworks.

And most vivid of all, it seemed, were the figures who moved about in this perfect setting. Jewels flashed; silks and satins rustled; blue, green and scarlet feathers drooped over shoulders and the air was filled with perfume. Fans were of brilliant colors and exquisite design; gloves were elaborately embroidered; swords were diamond hilted; spurs were of gold. In the center of all this magnificence were the royal lovers—Henriette, so different from others because she was frail and slender, yet vivacious and gay as she had never been before. She was able now to give expression to her natural elegance and good taste in clothes, and it was she who set the fashion. Louis, in cloth of gold, with black lace, in silks; velvets and satins, jewels adorning his handsome person, diamonds flashing in his hat, towered above them all—a fitting King of this paradise.

He could not honor Henriette enough. He must make up for all the years of neglect. He would have her take the Queen’s place on Maundy Thursday in the hall of the Louvre at the ceremony of washing the feet of the poor. At the grand fêtes, he would open the ball with Henriette. “Where the King is,” said the Court, “there is Madame.”

She was just seventeen; she was romantically in love. Louis, in all his manly beauty and with his new authority, was all that she would ask in a lover. She did not seek sexual satisfaction; her experiences with Philippe had not made her desire to extend her knowledge in such matters. This was the perfect love; romantic, idealistic, untouched by the sordid needs of daily life.

She had a great influence over him. At her instigation he was turning to more intellectual pursuits. They wrote verses together and often read them aloud, when they were vociferously applauded by the courtiers.