“But what does this mean?”

“That your mother is no longer a prisoner. Something will have to be done now or there will be war.”

“War between my mother and my brother! That’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible in France…or anywhere else for that matter, little Princesse. Always remember that.”

How her words had a habit of coming back to me during my troubles. It was no use saying: That could never happen. She had been right. Anything could happen in France…or in England.

We did not know very much of what was taking place in the Angoumois. It was a very uneasy time. The last thing my brother wanted was to be at war against his mother and I am sure she did not want to be at war with him. Fortunately Richelieu was able to convince them both that what the people wanted was a reconciliation. There were a few skirmishes and a great deal of negotiation and in time a meeting between my mother and brother took place in Paris. It was an occasion. The people did not want a civil war. My brother embraced my mother publicly to the people’s cheers and it was another excuse for balls and banquets.

My mother declared that she was delighted to see me and kissed me more fervently than ever I remember her doing before. Then she looked at me speculatively.

“You are growing out of girlhood, Henriette,” she said.

I knew what that meant, and the prospect excited me while it filled me with apprehension.

Elizabeth gone. Christine gone. It must be my turn next.

I was nearly fifteen when I first became aware of the existence of the Prince of Wales. It came about in an unusual way.

Queen Anne was devising a ballet as she so often did and as she and I danced well together she was arranging for a part to be written in for me. I was always excited at the prospect of a new dance and called in the seamstress to make a dress for me which would be suitable for the occasion.

Anne and I practiced together and each complimented the other on the lightness of her step and the grace with which she twirled. Earnestly we discussed how we could make the dance more beautiful as—so Mamie said—two generals might plan a campaign which was going to result in the conquest of the world.

I laughed at her. One of the few things about me which she did not fully understand was my passionate commitment to dancing.

We rehearsed together and each time we were more enchanted by our performance. As we neared perfection we would sometimes have an audience from people who could persuade or bribe the guards to let them into that part of the palace where we were dancing.

I enjoyed an audience, as did Anne, so we looked forward to these rehearsals almost as much as we did to the grand performance in the presence of the King.

I did not know at that time that there was anything unusual about that performance, but it seemed that all the Court was laughing about it and in due course Mamie told me what had happened.

“The audacity!” she cried. “Guess who was in the audience at your rehearsal?”

“Many people it seemed.”

“There were two gentlemen there calling themselves Tom Smith and John Brown. They asked the Queen’s Chamberlain so pleadingly to be given seats for the ballet and, because they were English, he let them in. He said he thought it only courteous to show hospitality to foreigners, and he was so proud of the way in which his Queen danced that he wanted foreigners to see it for themselves. So they came. They applauded the ballet, but somehow it became known who they were. Now, Henriette, guess who our discreet visitors were.”

“How should I know? What did you say their names were? Tom…Smith and John what…?”

“Their assumed names. The gentlemen masquerading under those very undistinguished names were none other than the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Buckingham.”

“Why did they not come as what they are and be treated with the respect due to them?”

“Because, my Princesse, that is exactly what they did not want to do.”

“But why not?” I cried. “Why did they come?”

“To see the Queen.”

“But they did not make themselves known to her. She would have received them warmly.”

“They did not want to make themselves known and now that the secret has leaked, it is really very romantic. The Prince of Wales is to marry the Infanta of Spain. She is the Queen’s sister. He is on his way to woo her because he believes that husbands and wives should know each other before marriage. He thinks they should not be thrust at each other without having a chance to see whether they can like each other or not.”

“I think that is right. Elizabeth might have been much happier if she could have seen her husband first.”

“Well, the Prince of Wales was on his way to Spain and, of course, he must pass through France and the romantic young gentleman could not resist the temptation of getting a glimpse of the Queen, but he did not want her to know for what purpose. He thinks that her sister must be a little like her, and if the Queen is beautiful, her sister might have a good chance of being so too.”

“Was he…satisfied?”

“He must have been because he has gone on to Spain.”

“It sounds very romantic. I wish I had been able to catch a glimpse of him.”

“He caught a glimpse of you no doubt.”

“He wouldn’t be looking at me, would he? All his attention would be for Anne.”

“You’re pretty enough for him to take a second look.”

The incident was talked of for some time. Everyone was amused by it and thought it was a very daring thing to do.

Anne mentioned it to me when we were at our next rehearsal. She said: “Did you hear about the outrageous behavior of the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Buckingham?”

“I did,” I answered. “Everyone is talking about it.”

“He will now be in Madrid.” Anne looked a little wistful. She enjoyed her position here in France but I sometimes thought she was a little homesick. “Somehow,” she went on, “I don’t think this marriage will come to anything.”

“Oh surely it will. Such a bold young man will surely succeed with your sister.”

“It is not a matter of succeeding with her. I agree she may like him well enough. But nothing is likely to come of this. In the first place the Prince is a heretic from a heretic country. My sister is deeply religious—far more so than I ever was—and one of the terms of the marriage is to restore the Palatinate to Frederick who is the son-in-law of the King of England and brother-in-law to this Prince Charles. They ask too much, and I will tell you something: The Parisians may laugh at two young men who come in disguise on a romantic mission, but the Spaniards will not. They are very formal. No, I feel sure this is a mission doomed to failure.”

“It seems a pity. But you never know what governments will do. They take the strangest decisions sometimes. I think it is rather charming and romantic to come in disguise to court a lady.”

“Oh, I can see he has taken your fancy. It is a pity he did not come to court you.”

“Me? What do you mean?”

“Well, we shall have to find a husband for you, and don’t forget that whoever marries that young man will be the Queen of England.”

“But you just said your sister could not marry him because he is a heretic. I am Catholic too.”

Anne crossed herself. “As all right-thinking people are. But—apart from his religion—he is the most eligible bachelor in Europe…at least one of them. He has a crown to offer. Oh, I wish he had seen you better. The light wasn’t very good and he would have been seated rather far away. I wish I had known who they were….”

“But, Anne, he is going to woo your sister. I am only fourteen.”

“I was married when I was fourteen.”

I shivered slightly but I thought that if ever I was married I should like the young man to take the trouble to come and court me.

I often wondered what the Prince of Wales had thought of the Infanta and what happened to him when he reached Madrid. It was strange—almost as though I had a presentiment of what was to come—but I could not get him out of my mind.

War had broken out in France—the sort of war everyone dreaded—with Frenchmen fighting against Frenchmen. When my father had been alive he had appeased both Catholics and Huguenots. It was different now.

The war was remote from Paris and I thought little about it. I was so completely involved with my singing and dancing. I did gather that the King’s armies were winning, but as long as what was happening outside did not interfere with my pleasure I dismissed it from my mind.

But there was change in the air and in time even I could not ignore it.

Charles d’Albert, Duc de Luynes, died…but not in battle, although he was in camp at Longueville when he was struck down by a malignant fever.

He had been so powerful and so eager that everyone should know how important he was—as people often are when they have risen from small beginnings to high honors. And now he was dead.

I heard that he had been very ill for three days and during that time, because they knew he was dying, his attendants had not bothered to come to his aid. So, as he had been no longer in a position to do them harm or good and was obviously close to death, he was ignored and left to die in agony with no one to give a hand to help him.

I felt rather sorry for the Duc de Luynes.

When he died they put his body on a bier to carry it away and so little did they reverence him that some of the servants actually played piquet on his bier while they waited for their horses to be watered and fed.

Of course his death changed everything. Louis was too weak to reign on his own. My mother came back into power and with her came Richelieu who had done so much to keep the peace between my mother’s party and that of my brother.

My mother was jubilant. She saw herself holding the reins again and ruling, with the help of Richelieu.

What she did not see was that in Richelieu, who had now become a Cardinal, she had found a man who was determined to take complete charge and guide a weak King in the way he should go.

It was a blow for my mother, but good fortune for France. But that was later, of course.

In the meantime envoys from the King of England had arrived in France and what they proposed was of the utmost importance to me.

BETROTHAL

It was a rather bleak February day. I would not be fifteen until the following November so was still very young. Mamie, who was by nature curious and particularly so about matters which concerned me, was the first to tell me about our visitor.

“My Lord Kensington has arrived,” she said, “and I have heard that he comes to France on a very special mission.”

I replied that when foreign noblemen came to Court it was usually on some special mission.

“I believe he is a great friend of the Duke of Buckingham, and as the Duke of Buckingham is the first favorite of the King of England and known to be a crony of the Prince of Wales, does that suggest anything to you?”

“That his visit might be more than just for personal pleasure.”

“The Prince of Wales is of an age to marry.”

“I believe so and it was for that purpose that he went courting in Spain. Perhaps Lord Kensington calls on us now as the Prince of Wales and Duke of Buckingham did when they were on their way to Spain.”

“The Spanish arrangement no longer exists. The Prince and Duke were not pleased with their reception in Spain.”

“You mean he is not going to marry the Infanta?”

“I do mean that. It is said that he looks elsewhere for a bride.”

I felt myself go cold suddenly, as though—as Mamie would say—someone were walking over my grave.

“Who?” I heard myself whisper.

Mamie took me by the shoulder and replied, smiling: “Who else?”

From then on my thoughts were in a turmoil. I quickly realized that Mamie’s surmise was not without foundation.

I was torn by contrasting emotions. There was pleasure…excitement…but always apprehension. He had decided against the Princess of Spain. What if he should do the same in the case of the Princess of France.

I knew there was no doubt of what was afoot when my mother sent for me.

All the way to her apartments I tried to tell myself that she wanted to see me about a masque which Anne was devising and in which I was to play a prominent part. As we had a visiting lord from England it might be that she wished us to perform something special.