of his bride, while highly appreciating the 100,000
livres of pension, he remonstrated violently with his wife, bitterly
reproached the King, and made himself generally offensive. "The Prince is
here," wrote Henry to Sully, "and is playing the very devil. You would be
in a rage and be ashamed of the things he says of me. But at last I am
losing patience, and am resolved to give him a bit of my mind." He wrote
in the same terms to Montmorency. The Constable, whose conduct throughout
the affair was odious and pitiable, promised to do his best to induce the
Prince, instead of playing the devil, to listen to reason, as he and the
Duchess of Angouleme understood reason.

Henry had even the ineffable folly to appeal to the Queen to use her
influence with the refractory Conde. Mary de' Medici replied that there
were already thirty go-betweens at work, and she had no idea of being the
thirty-first--[Henrard, 30].

Conde, surrounded by a conspiracy against his honour and happiness,
suddenly carried off his wife to the country, much to the amazement and
rage of Henry.

In the autumn he entertained a hunting party at a seat of his, the Abbey
of Verneuille, on the borders of Picardy. De Traigny, governor of Amiens,
invited the Prince, Princess, and the Dowager-Princess to a banquet at
his chateau not far from the Abbey. On their road thither they passed a
group of huntsmen and grooms in the royal livery. Among them was an aged
lackey with a plaister over one eye, holding a couple of hounds in leash.
The Princess recognized at a glance under that ridiculous disguise the
King.

"What a madman!" she murmured as she passed him, "I will never forgive
you;" but as she confessed many years afterwards, this act of gallantly
did not displease her.'

In truth, even in mythological fable, Trove has scarcely ever reduced
demi-god or hero to more fantastic plight than was this travesty of the
great Henry. After dinner Madame de Traigny led her fair guest about the
castle to show her the various points of view. At one window she paused,
saying that it commanded a particularly fine prospect.

The Princess looked from it across a courtyard, and saw at an opposite
window an old gentleman holding his left hand tightly upon his heart to
show that it was wounded, and blowing kisses to her with the other: "My
God! it is the King himself," she cried to her hostess. The princess with
this exclamation rushed from the window, feeling or affecting muc