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much now but he thinks of what will happen after he has gone. You know how the King cares for the people. He does not want them to be subjected to taxation and hardship, nor to be involved in wars. I heard him say to one of his ministers the other day, ‘We are laboring in vain, the Big Boy will spoil everything when I am gone.’ The Big Boy, of course, is François. Marguerite did not hear that or she would have stormed into the royal chamber to castigate the King.”
    Marguerite had noticed me even as Claude had.
    She said: “You are young to be in a foreign Court,” just as Claude had. She questioned me and she must have been pleased with my answers for she gave me a book to read.
    I read it avidly and when I returned it she questioned me about it. I felt gratified because I could see that I had impressed her with my intelligence.
    She was twenty-two years old at the time—two years older than François. At the age of seventeen she had been married to the Duc d'Alençon; but it was clear to everyone that her feelings for him fell far short of those she cherished for her brother. Everyone paid homage to her—not only because of her wit, learning and beauty but because she was the sister of the man they expected shortly to be King and when he was in that supreme position, she would be his chief adviser; in fact, she would rule beside him.
    The other who aroused my interest was Louise of Savoy. She had always ignored me; in fact, I do not think she was even aware of my existence. She was a very grand lady, very much aware of her royal connections. She had married Charles, the son of Jean d'Angoulême whose grandfather had been Charles V—hence François's claim to the throne.
    Louise doted on François with the same idolatry which was bestowed on him by Marguerite. Mother, daughter and son were irreverently referred to as “the Holy Trinity.” And thus it was. From the date of François's birth Louise had been hoping for him to ascend the throne. It was said that she had refused all offers of marriage after she became a widow, because she wanted to give her entire attention to her son.
    When he was a little boy, the possibility of his ascending the throne must have been remote and it would have seemed to Louise like a miracle when King Charles VIII, on his way to watch a game of tennis with his Queen Anne, had struck his head against a stone archway and died as a result. Consequently Louis d'Orléans became Louis XII and Louis was at that time married to crippled Jeanne who had no hope of bearing a child. That was why he had decided to rid himself of her and had done so with the help of the Borgia Pope; and then he married the late King's widow, Anne of Brittany.
    Having seen what I had of Louise of Savoy, I could imagine her rejoicing. She was the sort of woman who would let nothing stand in the way of ambition and that ambition was for her son, her Caesar, as she called him. To her he was perfect; all his rash acts, his daring exploits, his love affairs, his infidelity to his wife, they were all regarded with indulgence by the devoted mother and sister. It was indeed a trinity—if not a holy one.
    I was amused—and I knew the Queen was, too—to see the anxiety of this haughty lady now that the King had married a young wife; and so deeply were her hopes and ambitions involved that she could not hide her feelings.
    The Queen said to me: “She fears I may be pregnant. Oh, what if I were! What if I bore the King's son? What of François's hopes then? I think it would kill his mother.”
    “Is it…?” I was rash enough to begin.
    She looked at me and taking my cheek between her finger and thumb pinched it hard.
    “You must not take liberties, little Boleyn. Just because I show you favor.”
    I cast down my eyes; and it occurred to me that it was not easy to tread safely when dealing with royalty.
    But I was completely enthralled by life at Court and what I dreaded most was to be sent away.
    The Queen was growing