“United Europe, with Francis and the Emperor Charles for once combined could not force me to marry where I did not love. I failed to understand this when I left Scotland, but I have grown in wisdom since then.”
“Who is she?” asked the constable, with eager interest.
“Hark ye, Talbot,” said the king, lowering his voice and placing an arm affectionately over the shoulder of the other. “You shall be my guide. Who is the Lady Madeleine of this court?”
“The Lady Madeleine? There are several.”
“No, there is but one, the youngest, the most beautiful, the most witty, the most charming. Who is she?”
The constable wrinkled his brows in thought.
“That must be Madeleine de Montmorency. She is the youngest of her name, and is by many accounted beautiful. I never heard that she was esteemed witty until your majesty said so. Rather reserved and proud. Is that the lady?”
“Proud, yes. Reserved—um, yes, that is, perhaps not when she meets a man who knows enough to appreciate her. However, I shall speedily solve the riddle, and must remember that you do not see the lady through a lover’s eyes. But I will not further keep you. A change of costume may prove to your advantage, and I doubt not an untroubled night’s sleep will further it.”
“Your majesty overwhelms me with kindness,” murmured the young lover, warmly grasping the hand extended to him. “Have I your permission to tell Mary of Vendôme?”
“You have my permission to tell her anything, but you will bring her no news, for I am now on my way to see her.”