a conversation. Besides, he was not at all certain at that moment that he would not have given Micheline Anne's place at court and in his heart. Micheline seemed unobtainable, and for the King of France, such a challenge was virtually irresistible.
* * *
Francois was not the only person at Fontainebleau who contemplated Micheline Tevoulere. Even as he and St. Briac were talking, Anne d'Heilly sat at her writing table in her private chambers, worrying and planning. She was frankly scared. For years she had been secure in her position at court. The king might take other women, but they meant nothing; even this new queen, Eleanor, meant nothing to him. Why, Francois could scarcely bear to sleep with his own wife! Night after night he came to Anne instead.
She was proud, too, that he trusted her judgment. Since the death of Louise de Savoy, Anne had gradually taken over for the king's mother, giving him advice in her place. Anne d'Heilly had more power than any other woman in France. That very autumn Francois had taken her to Calais and Boulogne for the meetings with Henry VIII—while Queen Eleanor had remained behind.
Putting down her quill, Anne glanced distractedly at the pages she had just written, then rose to stare at herself in the mirror. Everyone said that each year increased her beauty, and she believed them. Fair curls brushed her brow while her wide eyes seemed bluer than ever. Her figure remained diminutive, its curves sweeter and more feminine than they had been when she first met King Francois, at age seventeen.
"Micheline Tevoulere is no lovelier than I!" she whispered aloud.
That was the crux of her dilemma. Anne had instantly sensed the king's attraction to the newest member of his court, but after a fortnight's brooding she was no closer to finding a solution that she could effect alone. Micheline did not appear to covet Anne's place as mistress to the king—in truth, she seem to have no interest in Francois at all beyond that of respectful subject. At last Anne had realized that this was the basis of the girl's appeal. Micheline Tevoulere was the first woman in years who was not his for the taking.
Anne knew now that the only solution was to remove Madame Tevoulere from the king's sight, from the court itself. Returning to her writing table, she thanked providence for allowing her to become friends with the king of England so recently. She dipped her quill into the ink and finished her letter by subtly reminding Henry VIII that she would repay any favor he might grant her. The English monarch was eager for Francois I to intercede with the pope regarding his divorce and impending marriage to Anne Boleyn.
"I am a romantic," she wrote Henry in closing, "and it warmed my heart to see the love between you and your Anne. I hope that the two of you can be married... and I shall do everything in my power to persuade my king to share my view if that happy event comes to pass."
* * *
As Anne d'Heilly was signing her name to the letter to Henry VIII, Micheline Tevoulere had been joined by Aimée in the gardens below, and they strolled aimlessly, unaware that others who wielded control were contemplating Micheline's future.
Even in December Fontainebleau was a place of unrivaled beauty. In winter the garden's hedges were clipped to form artful green tunnels that led into dormant flowerbeds, punctuated with urns and sculpture. Micheline did not regret coming here. The constant activity was a welcome change from the period of darkness following Bernard's death. During the day she rode or walked with Aimée or one of the other ladies of the court. Meals were events, attended by hundreds of people, and nearly every night there was entertainment of some sort. Lovely new gowns had been made for Micheline, and she enjoyed the warm admiration of nearly everyone she met—especially the men. However, in spite of the invitation in their eyes, she could not bring herself to respond. The thought of even being kissed by anyone but Bernard remained forbidden.
"I saw you talking to the handsome Chevalier d'Honfleur last night," Aimée ventured after a few minutes of companionable silence.
Micheline smiled and shrugged slightly, reading her friend's mind. "Guillaume is very nice," she allowed. "I agreed to go riding with him tomorrow."
"Good!" Aimée knew she should choose her words carefully, but, as usual, impulse overruled reason. "I would like to see you encourage someone,