She was most devout, but in no way bigoted, not showing her devotion by external acts too visible and too extreme, such as I have seen in some of our paternosterers; but, without failing in her ordinary hours of praying to God, she used them well, so that she did not need to borrow extraordinary ones. It is true, as I have heard her ladies tell, that when she was in bed and hidden, her curtains well-drawn, she would kneel on her knees, in her shift, and pray to God an hour and a half, beating her breast and macerating it in her great devotion. Which they did not see by her consent, and then not till her husband, King Charles, was dead; at which time, she having gone to bed and all her women withdrawn, one of them remained to sleep in her chamber; and this lady, hearing her sigh one night, bethought her of looking through the curtains and saw her in that state, and praying to God in that manner, and so continuing every night; until at last the waiting-woman, who was familiar with her, began to remonstrate, and told her she did harm to her health. On which the queen was angry at being discovered and advised, and wished to conceal what she did, commanding her to say no word of it, and, for that night, desisted; but the night after she made up for it, thinking that her women did not perceive what she did, whereas they saw and perceived her by her shadow thrown by the night-lamp filled with wax which she kept lighted on her bed to read and pray to God; though other queens and princesses kept theirs upon their sideboards. Such ways of prayer are not like those of hypocrites, who, wishing to make an appearance before the world, say their prayers and devotions publicly, mumbling them aloud, that others may think them devout and saintly. Thus prayed our queen for the soul of the king, her husband, whom she regretted deeply,--making her plaints and regrets, not as a crazed and despairing woman, with loud outcries, wounding her face, tearing her hair, and playing the woman who is praised for weeping; but mourning gently, shedding her beautiful and precious tears so tenderly, sighing so softly and lowly, that we knew she restrained her grief, not to make pretence to the world of brave appearance (as I have seen some ladies do), but keeping in her soul her greatest anguish. Thus a torrent of water if arrested is more violent than one that runs its ordinary course.