"That would be a waste of faggots, certainly," returned Mistress Curtis, dryly. "But there is the clock. Young ladies, it is time you went to your mistress." Mrs. Mandeville led the way, and I soon found myself behind my lady's chair in the great withdrawing-room, which was crowded with guests, both ladies and gentlemen, come to pay their court. The Duchess seemed to know all, and have a pleasant word for all. The Duke stood near, now and then addressing a word to his wife, and there was ever that interchange of loving and familiar glances so pleasant to see between married people. He was more than old enough to be her father, and, indeed, she was his fourth wife, his third having been the Princess Mary of England, the king's sister, and dowager of France. It was on the occasion of this marriage that he appeared at a tourney in a dress half of cloth of gold and half of frieze, with this motto: "Cloth of frieze be not too bold. Though thou be matched with cloth of gold. Cloth of gold do not despise Though thou be matched with cloth of frieze." It was said all his marriages had been love matches, and I could easily believe it, for a nobler pattern of a man I never saw. He was the model of all knightly and gracious exercises in tourney and field, having gained more than one victory by his prowess, and he was counted equally wise and discreet in the council hall. He was also a great patron of the new learning and a protector of those who followed it, nor did he disdain the more trifling arts of music and painting. I, who at that time had never seen a good picture, used to spend half my leisure in looking at those which the duke had brought home from Italy and the Low Countries. Of course, I had nothing to do but to stand still and use my eyes and ears. It was the grand reception-day of the week, and many were the great people who thronged the splendid rooms. It was not long before I heard the name of Bishop Gardiner, and I looked with eagerness to see this man who had held such an influence over my life. In he came, in his rich churchman's habit, all smiling civility. I believe I should have hated him at first sight if I had not known who he was. He was followed by Father Simon, his chaplain, whose viper face I knew in an instant. He advanced at once to pay his court to the duchess, and no one bowed lower than he or was more fulsome in his flattery. "Well, my lord, and how goes on your favorite pursuit?" asked the Duchess in her ringing voice. "To what does your grace allude?" asked the bishop. "Oh, the turning out of nuns and monks. We all know you like to hunt them as a warrener does rabbits, only your ferrets are learned doctors and divines." I saw Father Simon's face darken at this gibe, but the bishop only smiled.