“Anne, did you see her face? Marguerite’s, I mean. Poor Marguerite! It is a shame. She has been a good friend to me.”

“She has been a better one to her brother, Madame.”

“Well, Anne, that is natural. As for Louise, I believe she would like to kill me.”

“And would do, Madame, if it were possible for the deed not to be discovered.”

“I know it well. That is perhaps why I enjoy my little joke.”

“The quilting has slipped, Madame.”

“I find it rather hot, Anne. Perhaps I will wear fewer petticoats tomorrow.”

“You must not grow smaller, Madame.”

“Not until the time is ripe,” was the answer. “Have you heard any rumors about the embassy from England?”

“No, Madame, only that the King has chosen the Duke of Suffolk to lead it.”

Mary clasped her hands together.

“My Charles, soon he will be with me.” She began to dance once more round the room, her arms held out as though to a partner. She stopped suddenly. “I should be mourning Louis. Poor Louis who was always kind to me. But I cannot pretend, Anne. How can I mourn when Charles is coming to me? And when he comes, this time I shall never let him go.”

Anne had run to her and was picking up the quilting which had fallen from her skirts.

Mary snatched it from her and threw it high into the air.

“When he is here, the joke will be over. I would not have him see me ungainly, I do assure you.”

Then she laughed and wept a little while Anne watched her with solemn eyes.

Marguerite, her eyes wide, her face pale, burst into her mother’s apartment.