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her and snorted in displeasure, continuing to mutter something, nervously left the room.

      The girl was named Louise.

      She was three years old when her sister, who was named Françoise, was born.

      Like the eldest daughter, the Countess gave her to the nurse. The count was simply furious. He vomited and thrashed, telling Diana rather rudely.

      You give birth to some girls!

      You seem to do it for my evil! He blamed her.

      I need an heir! He shouted.

      No good from you!

      You are useless!

      Poitiers turned pale, she was tormented by only one desire that he would finally shut up!

      Be silent forever!

      She wanted to kill him!

      Oh yes!

      She looked at him and thought how wonderful it would be to never hear him again!

      She even imagined how best to do it.

      Poison or knife?!

      Which is better?

      But, Poitiers was incredibly God-fearing and a believer and her thoughts were just thoughts, and perhaps this was the only thing that stopped her from taking such a step.

      And she just answered coldly.

      You seem to be praying badly for an heir, monsieur! She parried evil.

      Their life flowed monotonously and monotonously, the count very often went to Paris. As he spoke on business. Poitiers, it was completely indifferent where he was. He was on the road more often than on his estate. Diana was only glad of this. Years passed. Winter changed imperceptibly to summer. Poitiers saw her grown-up daughters often. The eldest was nine, and the youngest was only six. Both girls were surprisingly very similar to their father. They weren’t very pretty. They had the same delicate features, the same colorless eyes and a thin nose. They took all the facial features from the count. They had almost nothing from Poitiers. They were surprisingly different from their mother, that those who stood next to them could be mistaken for strangers.

      Summer shone with colors, the world passed its usual circle. The trees were blooming again, filling the world with the scent of rain mixed with the scent of flowers.

      Once, one such beautiful morning, when the girls were walking with the nanny in the garden, and Diana was standing on the large front staircase of the mansion. Her eldest daughter came up to her and asked.

      Mom, she said.

      Can I ask you something?

      Yes, of course, honey. Diana answered.

      Mommy, don’t you love us at all? Me and Françoise? The Countess was taken aback by such a question.

      The child’s question was incredibly simple. But, she shuddered and froze in place from the surprise of the question. She looked at this not very pretty girl, at her own daughter. And her heart sank so hard in her chest that it seemed to her that she would now cry out in pain. It was as if a cold, bony hand had grabbed him, and, closing his fingers, decided to crush him. Her breath caught and it became difficult for her to breathe, and her eyes were moist, filled with tears. But, they just froze in her eyes, leaving somewhere deep in her soul.

      She knelt down next to the child, hugged and hugged her daughter to her, and answered quietly.

      Of course, I love you! Her voice was trembling.

      Of course I love you!

      How can I not love you?! My dear!

      You are my children!

      How can I not love you?!

      How can this possibly be?! She spoke to the girl, stroking her hair.

      It just can’t be!

      Remember this honey, okay! She whispered softly, kissing the girl on the forehead.

      The little arms of the girl put their arms around her neck, and the child happily hugged her mother. Poitiers hugged her daughter tenderly.

      Do you really love us, Mom? The girl said naively, hugging her mother.

      Of course! Of course dear! Poitiers whispered, trying not to burst into tears and tenderly hugging her daughter.

      Poitier got up from her knees and stroked the child’s hair.

      Now go my dear.

      Look, Françoise and the nanny are waiting for you. She said softly.

      The girl smiled, the pure smile of a child, and answered.

      Okay, Mom.

      Françoise and I love you very much too!

      Her little baby, as clean as an angel’s face, became serious.

      We love you very much! She added and ran away to the nanny and sister.

      Diana waved her hand and turned away, tears streaming down her cheeks, tearing her heart. She had cried for the first time in those years of her unhappy marriage. But, tears flowed from her eyes, not because her daughters might think that their own mother does not love them. She cried because she understood. That she didn’t love them all this time, didn’t love her own children! Like her heart was a piece of ice, nothing more. And only today she realized that this ice had collapsed, causing her incredible pain. She realized it was just now. She still loves them! She cried, realizing what a monster such a woman must be, who did not love her own children! She cried, because only now she realized that it was not so! She went inside the mansion. The realization of all this tore her apart from the inside. She ran so quickly up the steps to her bedroom, as if a pack of dogs from hell were chasing after her, and, collapsing on the bed, burst into sobs, choking with tears and trembling all over. From the very depths of her soul, a sound like a howl escaped. It burst from the very depths of her being, from the most hidden part of her soul.

      Little prisoners

      Paris, Paris!

      How many minds and hearts are thrown at your feet!

      How many hearts have you broken!

      With its mysterious, heady beauty!

      Like a fatal beauty, heady, dangerous, beautiful and mysterious. Calling like an oasis in the desert

      Insidious and capricious, in its contradiction.

      Calling and repulsive, like a temptress woman. Heart of the world, with the soul of a woman playing with the hearts and lives of her admirers!

      So close and earthly, but always so distant, like a star beckoning in the sky!

      King of France Francis 1 lost the war to the Spanish monarch. France lost to Spain. Francis, having experienced the bitterness of defeat, being himself twice wounded, was captured. But, negotiations were underway to release the king. Francis signed the Madrid Treaty that dismembered France. But, the king was not going to fulfill his obligations. Except for one thing, to give your sons hostage. Dauphin Francis and his brother Henry the Duke of Orleans. And so, on March 17, the French court, knightly at that time, did not lead the secular, riotous life adopted later. Quite modestly, he gathered in the castle, on the banks of the Bidasson River, where the ceremony of handing over the princes, hostages of Spain, was to take place. They were to be exchanged for the monarch of the state.

      This morning the court gathered just to escort the princes into exile, into captivity. It was a foggy, gray morning and the de Brese couple were also present at this farewell departure of the little princes. The entire courtyard gathered in the semi-dark hall of the castle, awaiting the appearance of the princes.

      And so they arrived. Announced: «His Highness Dauphin Francis Duke of Breton»! «His brother, Prince Heinrich, Duke of Orleans»! The entire court fell silent, awaiting the arrival of the princes. The door finally opened and two boys entered the hall. The princes were still quite children. The heir

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