June 5, 1554

Francis threw up at the banquet for the Scottish delegation! It splattered right onto the Bishop of Galloway’s surplice! And then he – Francis, that is – fainted. This did not further the notion of the Scots-French alliance as a strong deterrent toward England. I was mortified. Of course, so was Francis. I tried my best to present an air of composure. But then I realized that perhaps this was wrong, as it might make them think that he does this all the time. And everything had gone so well until that point. I had done exactly as my mother counselled. When I write her a report of this meeting, I am not going to mention Francis’s illness, although I probably should, for certainly the Scottish delegation will.

Concerning the mercies they requested on behalf of the Duke of Châtelherault, it was not as much as I had anticipated. They asked merely for a reduction of the interest on the money he is to pay back. I did as Mother said. I spoke neither yea or nay to such a proposal but gave them encouragement that I would consider it. Perhaps I did suggest that I felt this was not too much to ask.

I am completely exhausted, however, for I took much of the delegation hunting and hawking and horseback riding with me. I felt that I must make up for Francis in terms of my vigour. Poor Francis, he is in deepest despair. I keep telling him to pay no heed. It is done. It cannot be undone but people will forget it. But he sees through my words and says, “Mary, people do not forget when a Dauphin who is to be a King vomits at a state banquet.” He is right but this I must not say.