'Wherefore must I write in the vulgar tongue?' Udal asked again, 'Oh, Mistress of my actions and my heart, what whim is this? The King is an excellent good Latinist!' 'Too good!' the Lady Mary said bitterly. 'With his learning he hath overset the Church of Christ.' She spoke harshly to Katharine: 'What reversal should give my mother her life again? Wench! Wench!...' Then she turned upon Udal indifferently: 'God knows why this man would have you write in the vulgar tongue. But so he wills it.' Udal groaned. 'My dinner hour is here,' the Lady Mary said. 'I am very hungry. Get you to your writing and take this lady to my women.' VII The Lady Mary's rooms were seventeen in number; they ran the one into the other, but they could each be reached by the public corridor alongside. It was Magister Udal's privilege, his condition being above that of serving man, to make his way through the rooms if he knew that the Lady Mary was not in one of them. These chambers were tall and gloomy; the light fell into them bluish and dismal; in one a pane was lacking in a window; in another a stool was upset before a fire that had gone out. To traverse this cold wilderness Udal had set on his cap. He stood in front of Katharine Howard in the third room and asked: 'You are ever of the same mind towards your magister?' 'I was never of any mind towards you,' she answered. Her eyes went round the room to see how Princes were housed. The arras pictured the story of the nymph Galatea; the windows bore intertwined in red glass the cyphers H and K that stood for Katharine of Aragon. 'Your broken fortunes are mended?' she asked indifferently. He pulled a small book out of his pocket, ferreted among the leaves and then setting his eye near the page pointed out his beloved line: '_Pauper sum, pateor, fateor, quod Di dant fero._' Which had been translated: 'I am poor, I confess; I bear it, and what the gods vouchsafe that I take'--and on the broad margin of the book had written: 'Cicero sayeth: That one cannot sufficiently praise them that be patient having little: And Seneca: The first measure of riches is to have things necessary--and, as ensueth therefrom, to be therewith content!' 'I will give you a text from Juvenal,' she said, 'to add to these: Who writes that no man is poor unless he be worthy of ridicule.' He winced a little. 'Nay, you are hard! The text should be read: Nothing else maketh poverty so hard to bear as that it forceth men to ridiculous shifts.... _Quam quod ridiculos esse_....' 'Aye, magister, you are more learned even yet than I,' she said indifferently. She made a step towards the next door but he stood in front of her holding up his thin hands. 'You were my best pupil,' he said, with a hungry humility as if he mocked himself. 'Poor I am, but mated to me you should live as do the Hyperboreans, in a calm and voluptuous air.' 'Aye, to hang myself of weariness, as they do,' she answered.