"Perhaps you are right," returned Henry.
Then spoke Mary, all unconscious of her girlish egotism: "Of course he had not. Master Brandon could not help it." Which was true beyond all doubt.
Henry laughed at her naïveté, and Wolsey's lips wore a smile, as he plucked the king by the sleeve and took him over to the window, out of our hearing.
Mary began to weep and show signs of increasing agitation.
After a short whispered conversation, the king and Wolsey came back and the former said: "Sister, if I promise to give Brandon his life, will you consent decently and like a good girl to marry Louis of France?"
Mary almost screamed, "Yes, yes; gladly; I will do anything you ask," and fell at his feet hysterically embracing his knees.
As the king stooped and lifted her to her feet, he kissed her, saying: "His life shall be spared, my sweet sister." After this, Henry felt that he had done a wonderfully gracious act and was the kindest-hearted prince in all Christendom.
Poor Mary! Two mighty kings and their great ministers of state had at last conquered you, but they had to strike you through your love—the vulnerable spot in every woman.
Jane and I led Mary away through a side door and the king called for de Longueville to finish the interrupted game of cards.
Before the play was resumed Wolsey stepped softly around to the king and asked: "Shall I affix your majesty's seal to Brandon's pardon?"