her service.”
“You lack the spirit of adventure, Carlotta.”
“Perhaps,” she said.
“But that is wrong of you. There is so much in life to be enjoyed if you go out to seek it.”
“I am fortunate in having found so much that I do not have to seek,” she answered.
“But you are so young. What do you know of the adventures and pleasures which the world has to offer?”
“You mean such as those you enjoy with my cousin?”
“You have heard stories of me then?”
“Your fame has reached France, my lord Duke.”
“Call me Cesare.”
She did not answer but appeared to be concentrating on their steps.
“You know why I am here,” he said.
“Yes. You come to collect your dues—the price asked for the King’s divorce!”
“How French you are! All decorum one moment; all impetuosity the next. I confess I find the combination fascinating.”
“Then, as my frankness does not offend you, I will be even more so. I know your intentions concerning myself.”
“That pleases me. Now we can dispense with a long courtship.”
“My lord Duke, I have had no word from my father that I may look upon you as a suitor.”
“We shall soon have that.”
“In that you are mistaken.”
“You do not know me. I do not flinch at a little opposition.”
“Yet you, my lord, who feel such devotion toward legitimacy—for if you do not, why did you not wait for my cousin Sanchia who is so much more beautiful than I and for whom, if rumor does not lie, you have already some affection—seem to have so little regard for the same devotion in others.”
He flushed angrily. The girl, for all her prudery, had a sharp tongue and he was in no mood for a protracted wooing; he had dallied long enough, and he was becoming a laughing stock—which he found intolerable—both in France and in Italy.
“Legitimacy,” he retorted, “is invaluable to those who lack qualities which make it unimportant.”
“And you, my lord, are richly endowed with such qualities?”
He gripped her hand and she winced. “You will soon discover how richly,” he retorted.
He relaxed his grip on her hand and she murmured: “You scowl, my lord Duke. I pray you do not. It will appear that you are not satisfied with your partner. If that is the case, I beg of you, conduct me to the Queen.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” he answered, “until I have had an opportunity—for which I have been waiting ever since I set foot in this country—of talking to you.”
“Then, my lord, I pray you talk.”
“My first purpose in coming to France is to make you my wife.”
“You forget, my lord, that I am a Princess of Naples and that you should not speak thus to me unless you have first obtained the consent of my father.”
“It is the wish of His Holiness.”
“I did not mean the Holy Father. I mean the King, my father.”
“He knows it is the Pope’s wish that our marriage should take place.”
“Nevertheless, my lord, I have received no instructions that I may listen to you.”
“They will come.”
“My lord will understand that, as an obedient daughter, I must wait for those instructions.”
“You are clearly a lady of strong character. I can see that you are one who would make up her own mind.”
“You are right. I have made up my mind to wait for my father’s instructions. I see that the Queen signs for me to return to her. Will you conduct me to her?”
“No,” said Cesare.
She had, however, disengaged herself and, dropping a curtsey, she turned slowly and walked back to the Queen.
Cesare stood for a few seconds glowering after her; then he realized that amused eyes were watching him. He found a bold-eyed girl and turned his attentions to her, but all the time he was seething with rage which he was finding it difficult to hide for he was still conscious of Carlotta who was being much more charming to the insignificant Breton nobleman than she had been to him.
Louis summoned Cesare to his presence. The shrewd eyes of the French King took in the elaborate doublet, the jewels which glittered on hands and neck. Cesare found it difficult to suppress irritation when he was in the presence of the King of France. That determined lack of expression was more galling than jeers would have been. Cesare believed that the King’s mild appraisement of his finery meant: We understand why you must deck yourself so, my bastard Dukeling. These gewgaws would seem very precious to a bastard, who has just escaped from his