from asking.  At times could I hardly wait till evening fell, and when upon occasion thou didst not come, I was so angry I said I hated thee.  What must thou have thought of me, so forward and bold!  And that afternoon!  Ah!  I think of it every hour, and see and hear it all, and live it o’er and o’er, as it sweeter grows with memory’s ripening touch.  Some moments there are, that send their glad ripple down through life’s stream to the verge of the grave, and truly blest is one who can smile upon and kiss these memory waves, and draw from thence a bliss that never fails.  But thou knowest full well my heart, and I need not tease thee with its outpourings.

“There is yet another matter of which I wish to write in very earnestness.  Sir Edwin spoke to me thereof, and what he said hath given me serious thought.  I thank him for his words, of which he will tell thee in full if thou but importune him thereto.  It is this:  the Dauphin, Francis d’Angouleme, hath fallen desperately fond of me, and is quite as importunate, and almost as foolish as the elder lover.  This people, in this strange land of France, have, in sooth, some curious notions.  For an example thereto:  no one thinks to find anything unseeming in the dauphin’s conduct, by reason of his having already a wife, and more, that wife the Princess Claude, daughter to the king.  I laugh at him and let him say what he will, for in truth I am powerless to prevent it.  Words cannot scar even a rose leaf, and will not harm me.  Then, by his help and example I am justified in the eyes of the court in that I so treat the king, which otherwise it were impossible for me to do and live here.  So, however much I may loathe them, yet I am driven to tolerate his words, which I turn off with a laugh, making sure, thou mayest know, that it come to nothing more than words.  And thus it is, however much I wish it not, that I do use him to help me treat the king as I like, and do then use the poor old king as my buckler against this duke’s too great familiarity.  But my friend, when the king comes to die then shall I have my fears of this young Francis d’Angouleme.  He is desperate for me, and I know not to what length he might go.  The king cannot live long, as the thread of his life is like rotten flax, and when he dies thou must come without delay, since I shall be in deadly peril.  I have a messenger waiting at all hours ready to send to thee upon a moment’s notice, and when he comes waste not a precious instant; it may mean all to thee and me.  I could write on and on forever, but it would be only to tell thee o’er and o’er that my heart is full of thee to overflowing.  I thank thee that thou hast never doubted me, and will see that thou hast hereafter only good cause for better faith.

  “MARY, Regina.”

“Regina!” That was all.  Only a queen!  Surely no one could charge Brandon with possessing too modest tastes.

It was, I think, during the second week in December that I gave this letter to Brandon, and about a fortnight later there came to him a messenger from Paris, bringing another from Mary, as follows: