unfortunate women threw themselves on their knees before
Henry as he entered the grand gallery, and with tears and sobs entreated
mercy, the one for her husband, and the other for her father. The
monarch burst into tears as he saw them at his feet. He could not forget
that the mourners thus prostrate before him were the mother and the
sister of the woman whom he still loved, and as he raised them from the
ground he said soothingly: "You shall see that I am indulgent--I will
convene a council this very day. Go, and pray to God to inspire me with
right resolutions, while I proceed in my turn to mass with the same
intention." [290]

The King kept his word. In the afternoon the Council again met, when he
charged them upon their consciences to deliberate seriously before they
condemned two of their fellow-creatures to an ignominious death; but
they remained firm in their decision, declaring that by extending pardon
to crimes of so serious a nature as those upon which judgment had just
been passed, nothing but danger and disorder could ensue; and that after
the execution of the Duc de Biron, individuals convicted of the same
offence could not be suffered to escape with impunity without
endangering by such misplaced clemency the safety of the kingdom, while
a revocation of the sentence now pronounced would moreover tend to bring
contempt upon the judicial authority.

Henry listened, but he would not yield; and before the close of the
meeting, contrary to the advice of all his Council, he announced that he
commuted the pain of death in both instances to perpetual imprisonment,
and revoked the sentence that condemned the Marquise to the cloister,
which he superseded by an order of exile to her own estate of Verneuil.

To express the disappointment and mortification of the Queen when this
decision was announced to her would be impossible, as she instantly felt
that any further attempt to destroy the influence of the favourite must
prove ineffectual. She no longer exhibited any violence, but became a
prey to the deepest melancholy, weeping where she had formerly
reproached, and seeking her only consolation in prayer and in the
society of her chosen friends. Upon Henry, however, the effect of his
extraordinary and ill-judged leniency was far different. Although mercy,
and even indulgence, had been extended towards the Marquise without
eliciting one word either of entreaty or of acknowledgment, he felt
convinced that so marked an