reputation as originator of oppressive financial measures. Cromwell had determined not to make the same mistake that his predecessor had, but he was foolish enough to err on the opposite side. During the year 1535 he had given hints that he was no friend of France[589]. His rudeness to the French ambassadors on more than one occasion had convinced Chapuys that he favoured the Emperor, but as yet he had not gone far enough to bring himself into collision with the King. But this time he had forgotten his previous caution, and his rashness resulted in his first serious quarrel with his master. Henry may well have been furious that his minister’s recklessness had threatened to destroy the whole fabric of a policy which he had been at such pains to put in operation. The Imperial ambassador gives us an amusing account of a scene which ensued in the Privy Chamber when he came with Cromwell to propose an alliance between England and Spain. After Chapuys had propounded the terms of a possible treaty, Henry called Cromwell and Audeley to him and retired to another part of the room. ‘They talked together,’ writes Chapuys, who kept a vigilant eye upon the gestures of the King and those with him. ‘There seemed to be some dispute and considerable anger, as I thought, between the King and Cromwell; and after a considerable time Cromwell grumbling left the conference in the window where the King was, excusing himself that he was so very thirsty that he was quite exhausted, as he really was with pure vexation, and sat down upon a coffer out of sight of the King, where he sent for something to drink.’ Henry soon came to Chapuys, and after being as rude as possible, reproaching the Emperor with past ingratitude, and asserting that Milan rightfully belonged to the French, waived the point at issue entirely, and was with difficulty persuaded to look over the treaties at a later time. ‘At this slender and provoking answer,’ writes Chapuys, ‘I left the Court, and went to wait on Cromwell,’ whose regret was so great ‘that he was hardly able to speak for sorrow, and had never been more mortified in his life, than with the said reply[590].’