December 20, 1553
Château Blois

Our time at Anet was much too short. I think of it now like a streak in the sky, a comet flashing through the night. That is always of course how I think of Diane. Black and white and silvery, she sparkles constantly on the edge of my brain. And is it not interesting that the King’s guard have a special code name for Diane – Silvius? It fits her perfectly. This is my finest memory of Anet: the last morning we were there I rose early to meet with Diane in the courtyard before our ride. We always meet to wash our faces in the special buckets that she has her chambermaids set out each evening with rainwater collected from the cistern. This last morning when we arrived there was a skim of ice on the water. I hesitated. “It’s the best!” cried Diane, and she plunged her hands into the bucket, cracking the ice and splashing the water on her face. She raised her head, eyes sparkling, cheeks wet and glistening. “Es tu timide d’un peu glace, Marie? Are you afraid of a little ice, Mary?” she asked, and I plunged my whole head into the bucket. I heard her roar of laughter even as the water gushed into my ears! I guard this memory as if it were a precious gemstone. I need such memories to survive the court here at Blois. Sometimes, however, I must confess that loving Diane makes me miss my mother even more. It is almost as if I feel guilty about our fun. I think of Mother alone without me in her stony castle in Scotland. I want to write to Mother about the things Diane and I do, but then I think this will make her sad and then I get sad just thinking about it. Must rush off. Will write more later.