be handy when I come into my own!" This estate, with a sufficient
household, he made over to the Lady Cammilla, for her own free use.
Before, however, she took up her residence, Ferdinando, now, of course,
Grand Duke of Tuscany, placed at her disposal a country villa in the Val
d'Ema, to which the suffering Signora was taken, in the hope that the
fresh air and pleasant outlook would assist the recovery of her health
and spirits.

She improved wonderfully in every way--the fact that she was again her
own mistress and free to come and go at will, fortified her immensely,
and she determined to devote the residue of her life to the interests of
Ferdinando. Called upon, at his succession to the throne, to renounce
his spiritual character--it was a character, indeed, which ill-fitted
him--the new Grand Duke devoted himself to the duties of his high
station. The Lady Cammilla, who had been his confidante in days gone by,
was still retained as counseller and guide. Marriage was the most urgent
necessity of the Grand Duke for the procreation of legitimate heirs.

He was surrounded by heirs-presumptive and aspirants to the throne--Don
Antonio, his brother's adopted son; Don Giovanni, his father's
legitimatised son by Eleanora degli Albizzi; his brother Piero, and any
one of his bastard sons, and several other scions of the house. The Lady
Cammilla entered heartily into all her stepson's ideas, and quickly,
though doubtlessly regretfully, agreed with him that a brilliant foreign
alliance was an absolute necessity.

Together they passed in review the names of all the eligible princesses
in Europe, and at last their choice fell upon Princess Christina, the
young daughter of Charles, Duke of Lorraine, and nephew of Queen
Caterina de' Medici. She was received in Florence with joy, and married
to the Grand Duke in 1589. The Lady Cammilla graced the nuptials with
her presence, laying aside the dark-hued garments of sorrow which she
had assumed and worn so long.

That was the last time Cammilla was seen in public; she retired first to
her villa on the Arno, and then, seeing that the symptoms of illness
were returning, she voluntarily retired once more into what had been her
prison and her home--the convent of Santa Monica, where she breathed her
last on the 30th of May 1590, at the early age of forty-five, to the
unutterable sorrow of the devoted ladies of her suite and her faithful
attendants. In the _Libri de' Morti_ (1577-1591) we