“Perhaps you are right,” returned Henry.

Then spoke Mary, all unconscious of her girlish egotism:  “Of course he had not.  Master Brandon could not help it.”  Which was true beyond all doubt.

Henry laughed at her naivete, and Wolsey’s lips wore a smile, as he plucked the king by the sleeve and took him over to the window, out of our hearing.

Mary began to weep and show signs of increasing agitation.

After a short whispered conversation, the king and Wolsey came back and the former said:  “Sister, if I promise to give Brandon his life, will you consent decently and like a good girl to marry Louis of France?”

Mary almost screamed, “Yes, yes; gladly; I will do anything you ask,” and fell at his feet hysterically embracing his knees.

As the king stooped and lifted her to her feet, he kissed her, saying:  “His life shall be spared, my sweet sister.”  After this, Henry felt that he had done a wonderfully gracious act and was the kindest-hearted prince in all Christendom.

Poor Mary!  Two mighty kings and their great ministers of state had at last conquered you, but they had to strike you through your love—­the vulnerable spot in every woman.

Jane and I led Mary away through a side door and the king called for de Longueville to finish the interrupted game of cards.

Before the play was resumed Wolsey stepped softly around to the king and asked:  “Shall I affix your majesty’s seal to Brandon’s pardon?”

“Yes, but keep him in the Tower until Mary is off for France.”

Wolsey had certainly been a friend to Brandon in time of need, but, as usual, he had value received for his friendliness.  He was an ardent advocate of the French marriage, notwithstanding the fact he had told Mary he was not; having no doubt been bribed thereto by the French king.

The good bishop had, with the help of de Longueville, secretly sent Mary’s miniature to the French court in order that it might, as if by accident, fall into the hands of Louis, and that worthy’s little, old, shriveled heart began to flutter, just as if there could be kindled in it a genuine flame.

Louis had sent to de Longueville, who was then in England, for confirmation of Mary’s beauty, and de Longueville grew so eloquent on the theme that his French majesty at once authorized negotiations.

As reports came in Louis grew more and more impatient.  This did not, however, stand in the way of his driving a hard bargain in the matter of dower, for “The Father of the People” had the characteristics of his race, and was intensely practical as well as inflammable.  They never lose sight of the dot—­but I do not find fault.

Louis little knew what thorns this lovely rose had underneath her velvet leaves, and what a veritable Tartar she would be, linked to the man she did not love; or he would have given Henry four hundred thousand crowns to keep her at home.