There was a hush as he appeared. I was sure none of these people had ever seen anyone like him. Very tall, athletic, yet perfectly graceful, he must have seemed like a god. He was indeed the supreme specimen of manhood—and most royal personages of the past had been small, sickly and even deformed in some way. The French habit of tightly swaddling their babies probably accounted for a certain stunted growth which I had noticed was rather prevalent. Following Louis with his swollen neck and protruding eyes, François was a glorious contrast. Louise must have made sure that her Caesar was not tightly swaddled in his babyhood; his limbs must have been free to expand as nature intended them to. In any case he was a magnificent figure. He had a natural elegance, as had quite a number of the noblemen who attended him. This was something I missed later in England where there was a decided lack of that quality and where people adorned themselves with dazzling jewels instead of using them with discretion as François and the members of his Court did. I learned to follow the French modes and that I think was one of the things which set me apart later on.

The cheers for the King, the music from the trumpets, sambucas and hautbois were quite deafening and not always harmonious but one could not fail to be caught up in the excitement.

The officers of the Crown in their cloth of gold and damask, the nobility in crimson and gold, the ladies in their litters, all passed below us. I saw Louise seated with little Renée, the late King's daughter; and in another litter was Marguerite d'Alençon with old Madame de Bourbon, who was the daughter of Louis XI.

All this was to be the beginning of six weeks of festivities. François wanted the people to know that under him there would be no cheeseparing. His reign must be heralded by this indication of the good times he was going to give them.

There was no doubt of their appreciation.

During the procession Mary sat beside me, tense, waiting.

And at last the moment came, for part of this brilliant cavalcade was the English embassy which had come to visit the King to offer condolences and congratulations and no doubt lay the foundation for further friendship between the two countries.

The Duke of Suffolk rode at the head. He was undoubtedly handsome—tall as the King of France and as fair as François was dark. He did bear a resemblance to Henry VIII, and I could quite understand why Mary had become obsessed with him.

He glanced up at the window as he passed and I saw the looks they gave each other. Mary was radiant. She was breathing deeply and her clasped hands lay in her lap.

I hoped she would be happy. Perhaps she would take me back to England with her into her household. That would not be unusual. Young girls did go into households of noblewomen; and I believed that she did have a fondness for me.

Events moved quickly after that. That very day there was a meeting between Mary and Suffolk. Afterward she was in a state of great excitement—of wild optimism and despair.

They had had such a short time together, she told me; but that was going to change. “That arrangement with Elizabeth Grey is nothing… nothing. And I am free now. I tell you this: nothing is going to stop us.” Then she was sunk in melancholy. “There are so many against us. They know of our feelings for each other.”

I thought: Seeing you, Madame, who could fail to be aware of it?

But I said nothing.

“They hate him. They are jealous of him. Who would not be? That is understandable. They will try to turn my brother against him. I do believe that Henry might agree to this match…if it were not for those people around him. They think he would become too important… married to the King's sister. It is intrigue… intrigue. He loves me…as I love him. He said it might cost him his head if he married me. Wolsey is not against the match… and Wolsey and my brother together…who would dare say nay if they said yes?”

She paced about the room. I wished she would be calmer for I was sure that would be wiser.

“François has spoken to him. Do you know what he said to him? These are his exact words: ‘My Lord Suffolk,’ he said, ‘there is a bruit in this realm that you have come hither to marry the Queen, your master's sister.’ Poor Charles. He was so taken aback, for he did not understand how François could have known about us. But, of course, it was I who told him. François said he would help us if he could for he had a great affection for me and he knew the strength of my feelings. That was good of him. But I don't trust him. I wish I could speak to my brother. I will write to him. That is it. I will remind him that I married once to please him, and for this I was promised that next time I should please myself. I shall warn him of my enemies who surround him and will try to do me ill.”

I brought the writing materials and she wrote.

I shared her tension, for my anxiety regarding my own future was growing. She said nothing about what would become of me; I could understand that there was no room in her mind for anything but her own affairs.

All during those days when the jousting, balls and banquets and rejoicing in the new reign continued, Mary alternated between joy and despair. She did not attend the festivities, of course, for although the six weeks were up, she was still supposed to be mourning the late King.

She had one or two meetings with Suffolk which carried her to the pinnacle of delight; then she would be plunged into melancholy.

“Charles is afraid,” she told me. “He says our love will destroy us. My brother knows of the love between us. He made Charles swear before he left England that he would not persuade me to plight my troth to him, nor take the opportunity which being here he might find.”

“And did he promise, Madame?”

“My brother would insist. Oh, he is bluff and hearty but he can be ruthless if any go against him. I know his temper. I should, because it is very like my own. But as I know him, so should he know me and when I set my heart on something, I shall have it…as he would. There is a strong feeling between us because we are so much alike. We know each other well.”

“But if my Lord Suffolk has promised…”

“I have been promised. My brother has promised me that, if I married for state reasons, the next time I should have freedom of choice.”

I could understand her feelings. She was ready to brave her brother's wrath; she was his beloved sister, but Suffolk, whatever the friendship between himself and the King, was only a subject.

Then something happened which upset her a great deal, not because of what actually took place but because it was an indication of the power of those who were working against her marriage.

Her confessor came to her and told her that a certain Friar Langley had arrived from England and it was imperative that he have speech with her immediately.

I was with her when he was brought in.

I curtsied and was about to leave when she said to me: “No. You may stay.”

The friar looked at me with displeasure but he seemed to come to the conclusion that my presence was of no importance. I had always been allowed to witness a great deal because of my youth.

Mary said haughtily: “What is it you have to say to me?”

“I have come to warn Your Grace.”

“To warn me? Of what?”

“Of one who has come hither in an embassy.”

“I do not understand you, Friar.”

“I have come to tell you the truth about the Duke of Suffolk.”

The color flamed into Mary's face. “What of the Duke of Suffolk?” she asked haughtily.

“I believe Your Grace has been deceived by this man and has shown him much favor. It has been impressed on me that I should come here to warn you that he traffics with the Devil.”

She was seething with rage and controlling it with more success than she usually displayed.

“And who, may I ask, has done this impressing?”

He was evasive, evidently wary of betraying those who had sent him.

“All know that Sir William Compton—a rival with the Duke for the King's favor—suffers from a virulent ulcer of the leg,” he said.

“I fail to see what connection this has with the Duke of Suffolk.”

“The King has made an ointment which is a cure for ulcers. It fails to work on Sir William.”

“Is that so?” Her voice was dangerously calm. I thought: In a moment she will fly at him. Clearly he did not know her temper.

The friar lowered his voice. “The Duke of Suffolk is a friend of Wolsey and it is well known that he is one of the Devil's disciples. How could a butcher's son rise to such greatness?”

“By shrewdness, wit and very special qualities which others have not.”

“No, Madame. Through the Devil.”

“Sir Friar, you should be careful how you speak of my friends.”

“It is because I fear for your safety that I have come here to warn you.”

She went close to him. “Go back to your friends,” she said in a low voice, “and tell them I know their motives well. Tell them this: I shall make sure that when I return to England the King is informed of your perfidy toward those he loves… and if you have any sense in your addled pate, you will get out of my sight at once. I never wish to look on your sly and silly face again. And if you pass on any of these lies which you have uttered to me, I'll have you in the Tower and there they will discover who it was who led you to this act of folly.”

“Madame…”

“Go,” she cried.

He went.

She looked at me and said: “You see, I have my enemies. They will do everything they can to prevent my marriage. They would destroy my happiness…if they could. But they are not going to.”

Nor did they. Fortunately for Mary, François had decided to help. Looking back, I think he was rather pleased to do this—not because of his affection for her. François's feelings toward her were entirely lustful. He might have been piqued because she preferred someone else, but I think he rather admired her tenacity. He was romantic at heart; at least, at times, it pleased him to see himself as such. One could never be sure of François; but I certainly think he took a pleasure in flouting the King of England.

There was a rivalry between them which was intensified because they were of a kind—both young, handsome, both following serious predecessors who had lived without pomp. It must have amused François, who would surmise that Henry would be obliged outwardly to disapprove of the marriage of his sister to a man who had come from a comparatively humble background because it would annoy the great families of England whose favors he could not afford to lose.

So, with François's help, Mary was married with great secrecy in the chapel at the Hôtel de Clugny.

I saw her briefly after the ceremony. Worried as I was about what would now become of me, I could not help but rejoice in her happiness. She was radiant with joy—there in her simple gown, so different from the gloriously appareled young woman who had been married such a short time before in the Hôtel de la Gruthuse.

Only ten people were present in the little chapel, but one of them was the King of France himself.

It was a daring act, but characteristic of Mary. I believed that without her determination it would not have taken place, for Suffolk knew the hostility it would arouse.

The King of England was most displeased and for a time they were afraid to return to England.

But I learned something of the King's nature much later, when I went to England. He was very sentimental and he truly loved his sister. He liked Suffolk, too, and it was not long before a compromise was arranged. For such a flagrant act of disobedience they could not go unpunished, so the King would take possession of Mary's plate and jewels; for he had incurred great expense in sending her to France in the appropriate manner and he wished to be reimbursed for that. They were to pay him yearly installments of £24,000 and naturally they would not be able to come to Court for a while.

It seemed harsh punishment, but Mary did not seem to mind. She was so deliriously happy that I supposed Suffolk was all she had believed him to be.

“We shall be poor,” she said, “living in the country. How I shall love that! I am heartily sick of courts. I shall have my Charles and we shall be a country gentleman and his lady. It is what I have wanted more than anything in the world and now it is mine.”

Queen Claude sent for me.