Francis had for many years lived at court as the recognized heir, and as the custom was, called his distant cousin Louis, “Uncle.”  “Uncle” Louis in turn called Francis “Ce Gros Garcon,” and Queen Mary called him “Monsieur, mon beau fils,” in a mock-motherly manner that was very laughable.  A mother of eighteen to a “good boy” of twenty-two!  Dangerous relationship!  And dangerous, indeed, it would have been for Mary, had she not been as pure and true as she was wilful and impetuous.  “Mon beau fils” allowed neither his wife nor the respect he owed the king to stand in the way of his very marked attention to the queen.  His position as heir, and his long residence at court, almost as son to Louis, gave him ample opportunities for pressing his unseemly suit.  He was the first to see Mary at the meeting place this side of Abbeville, and was the king’s representative on all occasions.

“Beau fils” was rather a handsome fellow, but thought himself vastly handsomer than he was; and had some talents, which he was likewise careful to estimate at their full value, to say the least.  He was very well liked by women, and in turn considered himself irresistible.  He was very impressionable to feminine charms, was at heart a libertine, and, as he grew older, became a debauchee whose memory will taint France for centuries to come.

Mary saw his weakness more clearly than his wickedness, being blinded to the latter by the veil of her own innocence.  She laughed at, and with him, and permitted herself a great deal of his company; so much, in fact, that I grew a little jealous for Brandon’s sake, and, if the truth must be told, for the first time began to have doubts of her.  I seriously feared that when Louis should die, Brandon might find a much more dangerous rival in the new king, who, although married, would probably try to keep Mary at his court, even should he be driven to the extreme of divorcing Claude, as Claude’s father had divorced Joan.

I believed, in case Mary should voluntarily prove false and remain in France, either as the wife or the mistress of Francis, that Brandon would quietly but surely contrive some means to take her life, and I hoped he would.  I spoke to my wife, Jane, about the queen’s conduct, and she finally admitted that she did not like it; so I, unable to remain silent any longer, determined to put Mary on her guard, and for that purpose spoke very freely to her on the subject.

“Oh! you goose!” she said, laughingly.  “He is almost as great a fool as Henry.”  Then the tears came to her eyes, and half angrily, half hysterically, shaking me by the arm, she continued:  “Do you not know?  Can you not see that I would give this hand, or my eyes, almost my life, just to fall upon my face in front of Charles Brandon at this moment?  Do you not know that a woman with a love in her heart such as I have for him is safe from every one and everything?  That it is her sheet anchor, sure and fast?  Have you not wit enough to know that?”