The Loves of Charles II by Jean Plaidy Read Free Book Online Page B

should have been studying French, just as you, Mademoiselle, doubtless indulged in some pastime when you should have been studying English.”
    Rupert translated, and Mademoiselle pouted.
    “What would you say if I said you might wear my colors, Charles?”
    “I should say you are very gracious,” he answered through Rupert.
    “I might allow you to hand me into my coach.”
    “Mademoiselle is most kind.”
    “And perhaps to hold the flambeau while I am at my toilette.”
    “Pray tell Mademoiselle that I am overwhelmed by her generosity.”
    Mademoiselle turned to Rupert. “Do not translate this I only do these things because I am sorry for the poor boy. I would never marry him, as his mother hopes I will. I have set my aim higher … much higher.”
    “I am sure,” said Charles, “that Mademoiselle is talking sound sense.”
    Rupert smiled. He knew that the Prince of Wales understood every word, and that it was only his shyness which prevented his speaking French with Mademoiselle.
    “Tell him,” said Mademoiselle, “that he may come to my apartment and sit at my feet while I am with my women.”
    When Rupert translated this, Charles replied: “Mademoiselle is overwhelmingly generous, but I have a previous engagement with a lady.”
    “A lady!” cried Mademoiselle.
    “My little sister, Mademoiselle. My friend Minette.”
    Henriette guessed that the beautiful Mademoiselle was being unkind to her brother. “Go away!” she said. “Minette does not like you.”
    Mademoiselle answered: “I know she is young, but she should be taught how to conduct herself. She should be beaten for that.”
    Henriette, recognizing the word “beaten,” put her arms about her brother and buried her face against him.
    “No one shall hurt you, Minette,” he told her. “No one shall hurt you while your brother Charles is here.”
    Mademoiselle laughed, and rising, commanded Rupert to lead her away.
    “We will leave the boy to play with his sister,” she said; “for after all, he is but a boy and still concerned, I doubt not, with childish things.”
    And when they were alone, Minette and her brother were soon gay again, and she loved him dearly.

    Each day they were together; each day he talked to her, and although she did not always understand what he said, she knew that he loved her as she loved him.
    It had not occurred to her that life could change, until one day he came to her and sadly kissed her. “Minette,” he said, “we shall always love one an-other—you and I.” And the next day he did not come.
    Angrily she demanded to know where he was. He had gone away, they told her.
    She fretted; she would not eat; she so much longed for him.
    Her mother warmly embraced her. “My dearest child, you are very young, but there are things you have to learn. Your father is fighting wicked men, and your brother must go to help him. Then, when they have beaten those wicked men, we shall all go home, and you will not only have one brother, but three—as well as a dear sister.”
    “Don’t want three brothers,” sobbed Henriette. “Minette wants Charles.”
    And all through the days which followed she was a sad little figure in the palace of Saint-Germain.
    If any asked her what ailed her she would say: “Want Charles.” And each day she knelt on the window seat watching for him to come again; she waited, so it seemed to her, for years; but she never forgot him.
    In the palace of the Louvre, the Princess Henriette lay in her bed. Her mother sat beside the bed, and about her shoulders were three cloaks, and her hands were protected by thick gloves. It was bitter January weather, and outside the Louvre, in the narrow streets of Paris, Frenchmen were fighting Frenchmen in that civil war which had been called the War of the Fronde.
    Little Henriette, who was but four years old, shivered with the cold; her mother shivered also—but not only from cold. As her friend, Madame de Motteville, had said to her: “This year a