Therefore he proposed to bring to Amboise certain boys, and they should play and fight together, as young boys will.

Louise did not raise any objection; she knew that it would be useless to do so; in any case she agreed with this decision and, as long as she was allowed to remain under the same roof as her darling, she was happy that the Maréchal should undertake part of his education.

Thus to Amboise came some boys of François’s age—all of noble birth, all willingly placed under the control of the Maréchal. François made friends with them, played games with them, learned to fence, hunt, joust and fight with them. They were Montmorency, Chabot, Montchenu, and Fleurange; they would sit together after the mock combat, talking of the real war, and longing for the days when they themselves would go into action. Although they knew that François would most probably one day be their King, they did not allow this to influence their attitude toward him; in fact they forgot it for days at a time; and François did not remind them. He was too intent on enjoying life as a growing boy to worry about the crown which was somewhat precariously held over him.

He would sleep deeply and dreamlessly each night, delightfully fatigued after his exercise. He would rise fresh in the morning, and drag his comrades out of their beds if they showed any desire to remain in them.

“Come on,” he would shout. “The sun is already up. I’ll race you to the stables.”

He was growing up.

Louise watched him often with delight, often in anguish. He was so like those other boys and yet so different, because he never forgot for one moment that he was part of that trinity; and friendly as he might be with Fleurange, dearly as he loved to tilt against Montmorency, his love for his sister and his mother was never dimmed in the slightest way.

De Gié, determined as he was to remain on good terms with Louise, yet tried to wean the boy from her. He would have preferred to have complete charge of François, to let him live entirely with male company; but he quickly realized that, short of a command from the King, he could not separate Louise from her son.

He tried means of persuasion.

Once he said to her: “It seems a sad thing that a lady—young and beautiful as you are—should remain alone.”

“Alone? I am not alone. I have my children.”

“You should have a husband.”

“I am content.”

“The King would arrange a match for you with Alfonso d’Este. It would be a good match.”

“Leave France! Leave François! Nay, Monsieur le Maréchal. That is something I shall never do.”

He looked at her sadly.

“Clever women can combine wifeliness with motherhood.”

“With the father of her children, yes. Alas, I lost my husband, and I am in no mind to take another.”

Later there was a rumor that Henry VII of England, recently widowed, was urgently looking for a wife and liked much what he had heard of Louise of Savoy.

“I have no mind to go to England,” was her retort to that. “My home is where my children are, and that happens to be in Amboise. There I shall remain.”

Such a woman! thought the Maréchal. And there were times when he felt almost tender toward her.

Who would take to wife a woman whose affections were exclusively occupied by another—even though that other were her own son?

So Louise clung to her widowhood; and François grew in stature so that he was taller than all his companions; he could almost always beat them at their sports. Each day, thought Louise, he grows more and more like a king.

Anne was pregnant once more, and there followed months of anxiety, until one day the news was brought from Court that she had given birth to a stillborn child. And that child had been a boy.

Then Louise went on her knees and cried: “I see, O Lord, that You are with me.”

And after that she was more certain than ever that the next King of France would be her son.

Louis despaired of getting a male heir.

His health was deteriorating rapidly and he was beginning to be exhausted at the least exertion. Moreover the Queen’s last confinement, which had resulted in the birth of a stillborn boy, had made her very ill and she showed little sign of regaining her former strength. He was afraid of what another pregnancy might do to her.

“We must perforce resign ourselves,” he said. “François will follow me. There is no help for it.”

Anne clenched her fists and her face was set in determined lines.

“And give Louise of Savoy what she has been dreaming of ever since she gave birth to that boy?”

“There’s no help for it. He is the next in the line of succession; and I suppose we should be thankful that he is so robust. He is being brought up as a king. Let us face it. We should accept him as the Dauphin.”

“While there is life in my body I never shall.”

Louis laid his arm about her shoulders. He admired her so much. She was so strong-minded, so intelligent; but her hatred of Louise of Savoy was almost unreasonable. It was surely natural that the mother of François should be ambitious for him; nor were her ambitions misplaced; when all was said and done the boy was the heir.

“We should affiance him without delay to our daughter.”

“Claude … to marry that … lout!”

“She is our daughter; we can at least make sure that she is Queen of France.”

“I am determined to have a son.”

“My dearest wife, I could not allow you to endanger your life.”

“It is my duty to bear a son.”

“No, no. Not when we have an heir in François. He is healthy enough to please anyone. The people are already interested in him. He has all the gifts that will appeal most to them. It is our fate and we must accept it.”

“He shall not have my delicate Claude.”

“If he is to be King she could not make a better match.”

“Could she not? I have decided that she shall have the grandson of Maximilian. Little Charles of Castile shall be for our Claude. I should like to see Louise’s face when she hears of that. Claude married to the Archduke Charles; and I to have a son. Where would Monsieur François be then … for all his mother’s ambitions?”

“Have you decided then?” he asked sadly.

“I have decided. François shall not have Claude.”

Louise laughed aloud when she heard.

“Does she think I shall mourn! Does she think I want that poor little insect for Caesar? It would be like mating a donkey with an Arab steed. Let the Archduke have her. Let him be promised to her. It won’t be the first time he has been promised in marriage.”

Yet she was annoyed, because the people would have been pleased by the match. And when a king is not a king’s son it was better that he married the daughter of a king.

Had Louis suggested the match she would have been pleased. She would have told François: “Marry the poor creature. It is your destiny.”

And François would have married her and, because he was François, would have provided France with heirs. She smiled thinking of the beautiful women who would count themselves honored to be his mistresses.

But she snapped her fingers. “Caesar shall have a princess for a bride—she will have beauty as well as rank.”

The King was ill and the news spread throughout the country that he was dying.