Yet when the news reached me, it came as a great shock. I was sitting in a quiet little garden with Beaton, the two of us attempting to learn a new piece to play on our lutes, when my uncle Charles approached. Beaton saw him first. “The cardinal is here,” she said softly. I was immediately on guard. Though I wished to avoid my Guise uncles whenever I could, it was not always possible. What does he want now? I wondered. But when he got close enough that I could see his face, I knew that he was bringing me bad news. I set aside my lute. “What is it, Uncle?” I asked. “Tell it quickly, s’il vous plaît.” “Ma chère Marie,” he began, “I regret to tell you that your mother has died.” I had risen to greet him, but I sat down again suddenly, my knees buckling. Beaton rushed to kneel beside me. “When?” I asked. “On the tenth of this month,” he replied. “The tenth! This is the twenty-eighth! Have you only just learned of it?” He grimaced.
