A Curious Trio

Prince of Condé's hand was very rough. Of course, a warrior's hand would never be delicate and soft. His palm was hot, and Louis could almost feel the blood pulsing through his veins. He was still breathing heavily and could not speak for the moment, but Louis still saw suspicion flicker through his eyes. That was only natural. After all, not long ago, at the Red Children Market only a few hundred feet from here, he had loudly mocked Queen Mother Anne and even the entire royal family.

"Please rise, my cousin," Louis said gently. "Seeing you safe and sound brings me great comfort."

Prince of Condé hesitated, then rose to his feet. The strange look gradually faded from his eyes. It was not that he now believed Louis bore him no ill will, but that he had also realized the king had no need to go to such lengths. Given the king's exalted status, even if he had not appeared here, Condé would still have had to be deeply grateful for the king's mercy. He even felt a trace of relief. Kneeling before Louis was unpleasant enough; if the one who had come had been a man sent by Cardinal Mazarin in red, would that not have been even more nauseating?

By then, the assassins had either been killed or captured. The other two men who had fought shoulder to shoulder with Prince of Condé came over as well. They bowed to the king. Louis recognized one of them: he was Prince of Condé's brother-in-law, Duke of Longueville. He had been wounded in several places, though none of the injuries were serious. For an old man nearing sixty, that was no easy feat, but it also showed how valiant he was. Nor was he useless in politics—he had led the French delegation that signed the Treaty of Westphalia not long ago. That treaty had ended the long Thirty Years' War. Though Richelieu, Louis XIII, Mazarin, and others had all contributed, to claim that Duke of Longueville had nothing at all to do with France gaining the three bishoprics of Toul, Verdun, and Metz in Lorraine, as well as all of Alsace except Strasbourg, would have been utter nonsense.

But for a beautiful, charming young woman in the bloom of youth, being forced to marry a widower with graying temples and a face full of wrinkles was simply torment. So even when Duchess of Longueville's amorous affairs spread from Münster—Münster, a city in northern North Rhine-Westphalia in Germany and the place where the Treaty of Westphalia was signed, where Duke of Longueville had been appointed by Mazarin as chief envoy—to Paris and Saint-Germain-en-Laye, Duke of Longueville generously forgave her and did not rage over her infidelity.

This brought up another man: François de La Rochefoucauld. This duke was only thirty-nine this year, elegant and refined, and a descendant of one of France's most ancient families. His father had been highly regarded by Cardinal Richelieu, and thus in 1622, the County of La Rochefoucauld was elevated to a duchy, allowing François to leap at once into the position of heir to a duke. Six years later, he came to Paris and became Duchess of Chevreuse's lover. He even took part in conspiracies against Richelieu, for which he had been imprisoned and exiled.

Now he had come to Prince of Condé's sister, Duchess of Longueville, claiming to have fallen in love with her. To win her heart and make her happy, he immediately took Prince of Condé's side and served the prince as a high official of Poitou, a post inherited from his father.

At present, people at court generally held one of two views about him. One, mostly voiced by women, was that this duke was truly a man of deep affections. Yet compared to his love, his lovers evidently cared more for power and status; they did not love him, but merely used him. This opinion made the duke seem all the more pitiful and endearing. The other was the men's view—the women's thoughts made them snort in disdain. They believed that Duke of La Rochefoucauld was in truth an ambitious petty man, a shining example of someone who had climbed to high position by using women and clergymen. Duchess of Chevreuse alone was proof enough. When Duke of La Rochefoucauld had first risen at court, he had possessed few avenues for attaching himself to the powerful. Duchess of Chevreuse, on the other hand, had first married Luynes, Louis XIII's chief minister, then become chief steward of Queen Anne's household. After Luynes died, she married the influential Duke of Chevreuse, Claude. In those years, the duchess had been a red-hot favorite, and she was more than a dozen years older than Duke of La Rochefoucauld. No one would have believed there was any true love between them. Yet it was this very duchess who brought Duke of La Rochefoucauld before kings and princes, allowing him to secure an excellent position at court.

Had Duchess of Chevreuse not later come into conflict with Cardinal Richelieu, this gentleman might have continued soaring like a roc. Afterward, he was imprisoned and exiled, and everyone thought he was finished. Who could have expected that he would become Duchess of Longueville's lover and return to Paris in broad daylight?

In Louis's view, there was indeed a reason this duke had managed to captivate two immensely powerful duchesses in succession without suffering retaliation from jealous husbands or rivals—he was probably the most beautiful man Louis had ever seen, without even a close second. He had thick golden-brown curls parted to either side, with a delicate point at the center of his forehead that countless women yearned for. His eyes were an extraordinarily deep dark blue, like the surface of a lake in autumn. His lips were full, a particularly moist pale rose that made one want to kiss them at first sight.

And beyond that flawless exterior, his tranquil bearing was also an unmistakable trait. Moreover, from what the king had just seen, he had taken the lives of two assassins in succession and captured another. That was no small achievement, so there was nothing to criticize in his valor either.

What surprised the king even more was that Duke of La Rochefoucauld ought to have been thirty-eight, yet he looked younger than Prince of Condé. It could not be said that Prince of Condé had suffered harsher treatment, either, for La Rochefoucauld had entered the army at sixteen, while Prince of Condé had not become an officer until at least eighteen.

Duke of La Rochefoucauld had been one of the men at Prince of Condé's side during the assassination attempt. Louis did not know whether he and Duke of Longueville had been summoned together or had merely run into each other by chance. If it was the former, Louis truly had to praise Prince of Condé for having a heart as big as a bucket. But he soon stopped dwelling on it, because Duchess of Longueville had arrived.

The moment the carriage stopped, the duchess lifted her skirts and jumped down without the slightest decorum. After bowing to the king—rather perfunctorily—she first embraced her younger brother with tears in her eyes, then cast Duke of La Rochefoucauld a tender sidelong glance. Only afterward did she inspect Duke of Longueville's wounds. They had paused to rest in a tavern beside an antique shop. Duke of Longueville's head rested gently in Duchess of Longueville's lap, but her eyes could scarcely leave Duke of La Rochefoucauld, even while her husband held her hand tightly.

Louis had heard an absurd rumor that Duchess of Longueville's eldest son by her second husband might be the child of Duke of La Rochefoucauld and the duchess... To be honest, he did not believe it. Such scandals had happened before, but generally speaking, a husband would never acknowledge them. At most, such a child would become a monk or a country gentleman. Yet with the formula of Duke of Longueville → Duchess of Longueville → Duke of La Rochefoucauld laid out so plainly before him, he was almost beginning to believe it.

He had heard that the child was already five years old.

About a quarter of an hour later, Cardinal Mazarin arrived with soldiers to receive the king. By then, the light had grown very dim. The king saw the cleric's less-than-approving expression, but pretended not to notice it.

As soon as Louis returned to the Richelieu Residence, he heard that Duchess of Montpensier had been confined. He was neither surprised nor sympathetic. Ever since the duchess had come to Paris, she had been constantly wearing away Queen Mother Anne's patience. The Queen Mother had indeed once felt pity for her, perhaps even a little familial affection. After all, Duchess of Montpensier had practically been raised by Anne from birth. At the time, Anne was still queen and had not yet had Louis or Philip; she had poured almost all her maternal love into the Grande Mademoiselle, the duchess's title.

Who would have thought that in only a few short years, Duchess of Montpensier's mind would be completely turned around by her father, Gaston? It was hard to say whether her infatuation with Prince of Condé was genuine, or whether she simply hated Louis and his mother and was willing to do anything so long as it made them unhappy.