February 6, 1554

The uncles have arrived. My uncle Francis, le Balafré, talks too much about marriage. And they all inquire incessantly about Francis’s health. I can tell them only what I know. I do know that Nostradamus has recommended that Francis take rose pills that are made from the crushed petals of roses and drink lots of rose tea. He says it will protect him from his frequent colds and earaches. And it might be working. Francis’s nose, which runs perpetually, seems to have dried up in recent days. I know why my uncles inquire. They fear that Francis might die before we are married and that I shall never have a chance to become Queen of France as well as of Scotland. I suppose it is a problem, but I myself would miss Francis as a friend more than as a husband. I cannot say this to my uncles, and I cannot ask them to stop speaking of marriage. It is amazing the seemingly simple things a Queen is not permitted to do. Sometimes I muse that a plain serving girl like Minette has more freedom than I do. I know she has a suitor – Marcel, a groomsman. And Mary Livingston and Mary Beaton, who seem to know about such things, feel that Minette and Marcel have done a lot of kissing – a lot! They have seen the mark on her neck. Apparently if one kisses another very hard, it leaves a bluish mark on the skin. It is called la marque.