Also it was the seeds from which many years after sprang the hydra-headed league that laid in the slime of defeat the glories of invincible France.
But Madame never knew of that.
All who spoke to her praised her–her, the daughter of an English King and the sister of an English King–for this treaty which betrayed the English people and their allies; she had been always courted for her beauty, her rank; now she found herself courted for her political influence and her skill in the affairs of men–most exquisite of compliments for a clever woman proud of her cleverness.
The greatest nation in the world was beholden to her; there were many to tell her so. Afterwards the Dutch called her a wanton woman, and the English people cursed her as they cursed her brother. But Madame never heard them.
There were two Queens at the Court of France, but Madame was above either; she was the most brilliant, the most admired princess in France, which is to say in the world.
Madame was Henriette-Anne d’Angleterre, Duchesse d’Orleans, sister of Charles Stewart and the sister-in-law of Louis de Bourbon, granddaughter of Henri Quartre and his Medicis Queen, great-granddaughter of Marie Stewart, on both sides of a rich illustrious blood, yet born in the midst of civil war in the beleaguered town of Exeter and brought up a penniless exile.
Now, at five and twenty, at the apogee of her fame with these things forgotten; her brother was restored to her father’s throne, and had avenged himself, God knows, on the English people, Madame lending her delicate aid.
Nine months ago Henriette-Marie de France, Madame’s mother, had died, and Madame had listened to her funeral sermon, preached by the Bishop of Condom. As his glowing eloquence fell on her ears Madame had wept, her gay, light heart touched for the first and perhaps the last time.
She resolved to alter her frivolous, pleasure-loving useless life; she appointed the Bishop her confessor, and made, it may be, some little progress on another path to that which she had followed so far.