glance, and Francis was on the friendly shore, had leapt on his horse and made it prance and curvet as he cried: "Now, at last, I am a King again!"
Francis was not yet actually in his own kingdom, but in the territory of that young King, Henry d'Albret, who, with Margaret, was so anxiously waiting his arrival. Francis was at first indignant when he heard of the match that he was required to sanction; for Margaret, at this moment, was half-promised to the Emperor of Germany, to the King of England, and to Constable Bourbon. But, in the first moment of his return, he would not show himself ungrateful. Many friends awaited him at Bayonne, eager to clasp his hand again—Margaret, happy and well, whom he had last seen so miserable in his prison at Madrid, and Henry d'Albret, his fellow-captive at Pavia, now his host. There were also Louisa, his mother, the faithful and politic regent; and Montmorency, who had concluded the negotiations that Margaret had begun. Two women, moreover, eager and fearful beyond the rest, watched the King, and watched each other, to see which he first would greet. Francis turned at last; and, passing by Madame de Chateaubriand without a word, went up to a blonde and handsome Norman lady, Mademoiselle Anne du Heilly de Pisseleu, a maid of honour to his mother, a talkative, lively creature, suspected of Huguenotism, to whom he had written a letter in verse from Madrid.
Now Francis had recovered kingdom, freedom, mother, sister, mistress, and friends; but the price was still to be paid—not only the ransom of two million golden crowns, but the province of Burgundy. As for Burgundy, Francis intended to leave that debt
