The Loves of Charles II (121 page)

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.

Louis welcomed them back with great rejoicing. He was delighted with his dear Duchesse. At all the balls and masques he was at her side.

On one of these occasions, Henriette turned to the girl beside her and said to Louis: “Louise greatly impressed my brother.”

“Was that so?” said Louis.

“Indeed yes. He begged me to leave her with him in England.”

Louis looked with amusement at Louise, who had cast down her eyes.

“And did you wish to stay, Mademoiselle de Kéroualle?” he asked.

“If Madame had stayed, I should have wished to, Sire,” said Louise. “My wish is to serve Madame.”

“That is as it should be,” said Louis. “Serve her well. She deserves good service.”

His gaze was kind and doting. His mother was dead now; so was Madame’s mother, and he and Madame could not be reproved because they were so much together. None would dare reprove Louis now.

Louis laughed suddenly. “The King of England is governed by women, they say. I could tell you tales of the King of England, Mademoiselle de
Kéroualle, but I would not do so before Madame who loves him dearly, nor would I wish to bring the blushes to your cheeks.”

“Your Majesty is gracious,” murmured Louise.

Louise was in her own apartments. She was stunned by the news. There had been a most unexpected turn of events, which she knew must affect the course of her life. Madame was dead.

It had happened so suddenly, though Madame had been frail for a long time. She had been dining with her women and, during the meal, they had thought how ill she looked; when it was over she had risen from the table and lain on some cushions; she felt exhausted, she had said. Then she had asked for a drink and, when Madame de Gourdon had brought her a glass of iced chicory water, she was in sudden and acute pain.

She had cried out that she was poisoned, and her eyes had turned accusingly to Monsieur who had come into the apartment. Everyone present had thought: Monsieur has poisoned Madame.

Louise, in extreme panic, had hurried out of the apartment to bring help. It was imperative that Madame be treated at once, for she looked close to death, and if she died what would become of Louise?

The doctors had come. The King had come. Louise witnessed the strange sight of the magnificent Louis kneeling by Madame, his handsome face distorted with grief; she had heard the sobs in his throat, and his muttered endearments.

But Louis could not save her; nor could the doctors. A few short weeks after her return from her brother’s Court Henriette d’Orléans was dead.

And now, thought Louise, what will become of me?

She waited for the summons to return to her father’s estate. She had failed. There was no place for her at Court; she realized that now.

Each day she expected the summons to come.

There was a summons; but not from her home.

Madame de Gourdon came to her one day. Poor Madame de Gourdon! She was a most unhappy woman. She was not allowed to forget that it was she who had brought the glass of iced chicory water to Madame. Rumor ran wild throughout the Court. Madame was poisoned, it was whispered. Monsieur had done this; and his partner in crime was the Chevalier de Lorraine, his latest friend. But who had administered the draught? One of Madame’s women. Why, it was Madame de Gourdon. In vain did Madame
de Gourdon sob out her devotion to Madame. People looked at her with suspicion.

Now she spoke listlessly: “Mademoiselle de Kéroualle, the King wishes you to attend him immediately.”

“His Majesty!” cried Louise, springing to her feet and smoothing down the folds of her dress.

“I will take you to him,” said Madame de Gourdon. “He is ready to receive you now.”

The King had come to St. Cloud to see her! It was incredible. She could think of only one thing it could mean. He
had
noticed her after all.

If he had come to see her all would soon know it. They would talk of her as they talked of La Vallière and Montespan. And why not? She was as good-looking as La Vallière surely. She touched her chestnut hair. The soft curls reassured her, gave her courage.

“I will go and prepare myself,” she said.

“You cannot do that. His Majesty is waiting.”

He was striding up and down the small apartment when Madame de Gourdon conducted her thither.

Madame de Gourdon curtsied and left Louise alone with the King.

Louise went hurriedly forward and knelt as though in confusion, but a confusion which was charming. She had practiced this often enough.

“Rise, Mademoiselle de Kéroualle,” said the King. “I have something to say to you.”

“Yes, Sire?” she said, and she could not keep the breathless note from her voice.

He did not look at her. He was staring at the tapestry which covered the walls of this small chamber, as though to find inspiration there. Louise took a quick glance at his face and saw that he was trying to compose it. What could this emotion of the King mean?

She was prepared to register the utmost surprise when he should tell her he had noticed her. She would be confused, overcome with astonishment and modesty. She would stammer out her gratitude and her fear. She believed that was what Louis would expect. She had the shining example of La Vallière to follow.

The King began to speak slowly: “Mademoiselle de Kéroualle, I have just suffered one of the greatest griefs of my life.”

Louise did not speak; she merely bowed her head; the handsome eyes were turned upon her, and there were tears in them.

“And I know,” went on Louis, “that you too have suffered. Any who had lived near her must feel her loss deeply.”