at, 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.

Her pathetic, soul-charged appeal might have softened the heart of
Caligula himself; but Henry was not even cruel. He was simply an
animal so absorbed in himself that he could not feel for others.

"Oh! it is out at last," he said, with a laugh. "I thought all this
sweetness must have been for something. So the lady wants her Brandon,
and doesn't want her Louis, yet is willing to obey her dear, kind
brother? Well, we'll take her at her word and let her obey. You may as
well understand, once and for all, that you are to go to France. You
promised to go decently if I would not cut off that fellow's head, and
now I tell you that if I hear another whimper from you off it comes,
and you will go to France, too."

This brought Mary to terms quickly enough. It touched her one
vulnerable spot--her love.

"I will go; I promise it again. You shall never hear another word of
complaint from me if you give me your royal word that no harm shall
come to him--to him," and she put her hands over her face to conceal
her tears as she softly wept.

"The day you sail for France, Brandon shall go free and shall again
have his old post at court. I like the fellow as a good companion, and
really believe you are more to blame than he."

"I am all to blame, and am ready this day to pay the penalty. I am at
your disposal to go when and where you choose," answered Mary, most
pathetically.

Poor, fair Proserpina, with no kind mother Demeter to help her. The
ground will soon open, and Pluto will have his bride.

That evening Cavendish took me aside