Henry was a dullard mentally, while Mary’s mind was keen and alert—­two facts of which the girl was perfectly aware—­so it was no wonder she had such confidence in herself.  When she first heard of Brandon’s sentence her fear for him was so great, and the need for action so urgent, that she could not resort to her usual methods for turning matters her way, but eagerly applied the first and quickest remedy offered.  Now, however, that she had a breathing spell, and time in which to operate her more slowly moving, but, as she thought, equally sure forces of cajolery and persuasion, she determined to marshal the legions of her wit and carry war into the enemy’s country at once.

Henry’s brutal selfishness in forcing upon her the French marriage, together with his cruel condemnation of Brandon, and his vile insinuations against herself, had driven nearly every spark of affection for her brother from her heart.  But she felt that she might feign an affection she did not feel, and that what she so wanted would be cheap at the price.  Cheap?  It would be cheap at the cost of her immortal soul.  Cheap?  What she wanted was life’s condensed sweets—­the man she loved; and what she wanted to escape was life’s distilled bitterness—­marriage with a man she loathed.  None but a pure woman can know the torture of that.  I saw this whole disastrous campaign from start to finish.  Mary began with a wide flank movement conducted under masked batteries and skilfully executed.  She sighed over her troubles and cried a great deal, but told the king he had been such a dear, kind brother to her that she would gladly do anything to please him and advance his interests.  She said it would be torture to live with that old creature, King Louis, but she would do it willingly to help her handsome brother, no matter how much she might suffer.

The king laughed and said:  “Poor old Louis!  What about him?  What about his suffering?  He thinks he is making such a fine bargain, but the Lord pity him, when he has my little sister in his side for a thorn.  He had better employ some energetic soul to prick him with needles and bodkins, for I think there is more power for disturbance in this little body than in any other equal amount of space in all the universe.  You will furnish him all the trouble he wants, won’t you, sister?”

“I shall try,” said the princess demurely, perfectly willing to obey in everything.

“Devil a doubt of that, and you will succeed, too, or my crown’s a stew-pan,” and he laughed at the huge joke he was about to perpetrate on his poor, old royal brother.

It would seem that the tremendous dose of flattery administered by Mary would have been so plainly self-interested as to alarm the dullest perception, but Henry’s vanity was so dense, and his appetite for flattery so great, that he accepted it all without suspicion, and it made him quite affable and gracious.

Mary kept up her show of affection and docile obedience for a week or two until she thought Henry’s suspicions were allayed; and then, after having done enough petting and fondling, as she thought, to start the earth itself a-moving—­as some men are foolish enough to say it really does—­she began the attack direct by putting her arms about the king’s neck, and piteously begging him not to sacrifice her whole life by sending her to France.