THE PRINCESS OF Monpensier.  
Written Originally in French, and now newly rendered into English.  
London, Printed Anno Dom. 1666.   

THE TRANSLATOR TO THE READER.  
THough generally all Translations merit an excuse, and though I am not so much a stranger to my own inabilities, and to the modern Mode of Writing, as to be ignorant, how requisite it is for me to make an Apology for myself, and to beg Pardon for this attempt; yet I shall at present take the liberty upon me, neither to perform the one, nor the other: since, if good, the Translation deserves no excuse; and if bad, it merits no Pardon. I shall only inform the Reader, that this Translation is owing to some vacant hours, and to a Friends request, who having commended the Book to me, & desiring me to translate it, I confess at first (through the small esteem which I have ever had for Romances, since I understood better Books) I made some difficulty to grant his request; But being informed (though the French Stationer, out of his respect to persons descended from those mentioned in this Relation, endeavours to persuade us to the contrary) that this Story was real, and no fiction; I resolved at length to condescend to his desire, and to adventure upon the Translating of a Book, which I heard had received such general commendations; how deservedly (since men's fancies are so different) I shall not take upon me to determine, but shall leave that, together with the Translation, to be either approved of, or condemned, by the judicious Reader.   

THE French Bookseller TO THE READER.  
THE respect which we own to the Illustrious Name which this Book bears for its Title, and the consideration which we ought to have for the Eminent Persons which are descended from them who have born it, obliges me to say (not to fail of respect either towards the one, or the other) that it has not been taken from any Manuscript which is remaining to us of the Time wherein those Persons herein mentioned Lived: The Author being willing only for his diversion to write Adventures, invented to please his fancy, has judged it more proper to take names known in our Histories, then to make use of those which are found in Romances; believing that the Reputation of the Princess of Monpensier would not be at all blemished by a relation which in effect is fabulous. If this be not his opinion, I have endeavoured to make an amends for it by this Advertisement, which will prove as advantageous to the Author, as it will appear respectful from me, both towards the Dead, who are interessed in it, and towards the Living whom it may concern.   

THE PRINCESS OF Monpensier.  
Whilst the Rage and fury of a Civil War (during the reign of Charles the ninth) rend France in pieces, Love was not wanting to find room amidst those disorders; and to cause as great in his own Empire, as the Ambition, and self-ends of some Great Ones caused in that Dominion.  
The only Daughter of the marquis of Mezieres, an Heiress very considerable, no less for her great Estate, then for her alliance to the Illustrious House of Anjou, from whence she was descended; was promised in marriage to the Duke of Maine, a younger Brother to the Duke of Guise (since called Balafre.) The only want of years in this great Heiress seemed to retard her marriage: during which time the Duke of Guise, who saw her often, discovering in her the early appearances of a Beauty (which age in a short time was like to render most accomplished) grew exceeding amorous of her, and fortune proved so favourable to him that he received a reciprocal return of his affection.  
They long (with care) concealed their Love, the Duke of Guise (who was not then possessed with so much ambition, as since) ardently wished to marry her; but the fear to displease the Cardinal of Lorraine, who served him instead of a Father, hindered him from declaring his intentions.  
In this condition were affairs, when as the House of Bourbon, who could not but with envy behold the rise of that of Guise, perceiving the advantage which they would receive by this marriage, resolved to deprive them of it, and to make it advantageous to themselves, in procuring this Heiress to marry the young Prince of Monpensier.  
Endeavours were used to execute this design with such success, that the friends of Madamoiselle de Mezieres, contrary to the promises which they had made to the Cardinal of Lorraine, resolved to bestow her in marriage on that young Prince. The whole house of Guise were extremely surprised at their proceed, but the Duke, above the rest, seemed to be o'erwhelmed with grief; the interest of his Love made him receive this breach of their word as an unsufferable affront; and in spite of all the persuasions and endeavours used to the contrary (by the Cardinal of Lorraine, and the Duke of Aumale, his Uncles, who would not appear too obstinate in a business which they perceived beyond their power to hinder) his resentment soon appeared, and with such violence too in the very presence of the Prince of Monpensier, that from thence proceeded a hatred between them, which finished not, but with their Lives.  
Madamoiselle de Mezieres, importuned by her Relations to marry that Prince, and perceiving otherwise that 'twas impossible for her to marry the Duke of Guise, besides her virtue prompting her, that 'twas dangerous to have that Person for a Brother-in-Law, whom she had wished for as a Husband, in the end resolved to follow the inclination of her friends, and conjured the Duke of Guise no longer, by any new obstacle to divert their marriage.  
In fine she married the P●●nce of Monpensier, who shortly after carried her to Champigni (the usual seat belonging to the Princes of his family) withdrawing her from Paris, where the burden of the war was like to fall heaviest; that great City being menaced to sustain a siege from the Huguenots Army, of which the Prince of Conde was General, who now for the second time had begun to declare War against the King.  
The Prince of Monpensier even in his childhood had contracted a firm, and particular friendship with the Count of Chabanes, who was a man far more advanced in years than himself, and a person of extraordinary merit. This Count had been so sensible of the esteem, and of the confidence which this young Prince reposed in him, that contrary to the engagements which he had made to the Prince of Conde, who gave him hopes of considerable employments in the Huguenots party, he declared himself for the Catholics; since he could not resolve to be opposite in any thing to a Person, that was so dear to him. This alteration of Party having no other known foundation, it was doubted whether it were real or no; and the Queen-Mother, Catherine de Medicis, had such great suspicions of him, that the War being declared by the Huguenots, she had a design to arrest him, and to secure his Person, had not the Prince of Monpensier endeavoured to hinder it, and carried Chabanes to Champigni, in company with his Wife.  
The Count being of a very pleasant, and very agreeable humour, he soon gained the esteem of the Princess of Monpensier, and in a short time she reposed no less confidence in him, and had no less amity for him, than had the Prince her Husband. Chabanes on his side beheld with admiration so much Beauty, Wit, and Virtue; which appeared in this young Princess, and making use of the friendship which she shown him to inspire her with the principles of an extraordinary Virtue, and worthy of the greatness of her birth; he in a small time rendered her one of the most accomplished Persons in the world.  
The Prince being returned to Court, (called thither by the continuation of the War) the Count remained alone with the Princess, and began to have a respect, and an amity for her, proportionable both to her quality, and merits. The confidence which they reposed in each other, augmented on both sides, but grew so great on the Princess of Monpensiers' part, that she acquainted him with the inclination and affection which she had had for the Duke of Guise: but she informed him also at the same instant, that her Love was now almost extinct, and that there remained no more at present, than what was requisite to defend her heart, from any such other inclination; and that her Virtue, joining itself to the remainder of this impression, she was not capable to have any thing but disdain and aversion for all those who should dare to have any Love for her.  
The Count, who knew the sincerity of this fair Princess, and who perceived in her, dispositions so contrary to be ensnared with the enticing baits of gallantry, and courtship, doubted not at all of the verity of her words; Yet notwithstanding his Reason proved too weak a defence to protect him from the assaulting charms of a Beauty, in whose company, 'twas his fortune to be every day, so that at length he became passionately enamoured of this Princess, and whatsoever shame at first possessed him to be thus vanquished, yet in the end he was forced to submit, and to affect her with the most sincere, and violent passion, which perhaps ever was; And though he was not Master of his heart, yet he proved so of his actions. The alteration of his mind changed not at all his humour, so that none suspected him to be in Love.  
He took great care, during the space of a whole year, to hid it from the Princess, and he believed that he should always have had the same desire to have concealed it from her. But Love produced the same effects in him which it generally does in all Lovers, causing in him a desire to reveal his affection, and after all those difficulties which are wont to perplex Lovers on the like occasions, he at last took on him the boldness to acquaint her with his affection, being before well prepared to endure the violence of that storm, wherewith the haughty humour of this Princess seemed to menace him. But he found in her a tranquillity, and a coldness worse a thousand times then all the rigour, and ill usage, which he had expected.  
She took not so much pains, to put herself in a Passion for what he had said; she only in few words represented to him the difference between their Qualities, and Age, the particular knowledge which he had of her virtue, and of the inclination which she had had for the Duke of Guise, but, above the rest, what he owed to the friendship of the Prince her Husband, and to the confidence which he reposed in him. The Count (at these words) thought he should have died at her feet, through shame and grief; but she endeavoured to comfort him in assuring him, that she would never remember what he had told her, and that she would never be persuaded to believe a thing which was so disadvantageous to him, and that she would ever still regard him, as her best friend.  
These assurances (as may be imagined) were some consolation to the Count; but yet he made a sensible discovery of the disdain, and aversion, which the Princess had for him through her words; and the next day, though he beheld her with a countenance as unconcerned as formerly, yet his grief and affliction much increased. The Princess on her part lessened not at all the esteem which she before had for him, she used him with the same affability as she was accustomed to do: and often (when occasion served) took an opportunity to discourse of the inclination which she formerly had for the Duke of Guise: and Fame beginning then to publish to the world those great and excellent qualities which appeared in that Prince, she confessed to him that she was extreme glad to hear it, and that she much rejoiced to find that he merited the affection which she had had for him.  
These signs of confidence, which had been formerly so dear to the Count, became now insupportable to him; yet he durst not show his displeasure to the Princess, though sometimes he presumed to put her in mind of that which he had had the boldness to declare to her.  
After two years of absence (Peace being made) the Prince of Monpensier returned home to visit the Princess his Wife, covered o'er with the Laurels, and honour which he had gained at the siege of Paris, and at the Battle of St. Dennis. He was surprised to find the Beauty of this Princess arrived to so great a perfection, and through an inclination of Jealousy (which was natural to him) he seemed to be troubled at it; foreseeing well, that he should not be the only Person, to whom she would appear fair. He much rejoiced to see the Count of Chabanes, for whom his kindness was not at all diminished: he demanded earnestly of him a character of the humour, and conditions of his Wife, who appeared almost a stranger to him through the small space of time which he had lived with her.  
The Count with a sincereness, as exact, as if he had not been at all in Love, declared to the Prince all what he knew of this Princess capable to make him Love her; and he also advertized the Princess of Monpensier of all things which she ought to perform fully to gain the heart and estimation of her Husband.  
In fine, the Count's Passion so naturally inclined him to think of nothing else, but what might augment the prosperity, and happiness of this Princess, that he easily forgot how much it concerns Lovers to hinder Persons they are in Love withal, from keeping a perfect correspondence with their Husbands.  
Scarce was the Peace concluded, but the War began to be renewed again, occasioned by the design which the King had to arrest at Noiers the Prince of Conde, and the Admiral of Chastillon; and this design having been discovered, they began on both sides to make new preparations for War, which constrained the Prince of Monpensier to leave his Wife, and to make his appearance there, where both his honour, and his duty called him. Chabanes followed him to Court, having fully justified himself in the Queen's opinion. It was not without extreme grief that he departed from the Princess, who on her side remained much perplexed with the thoughts of those dangers which her Husband was going to expose himself to, in the War.  
The Chiefs of the Huguenots party retiring themselves to Rochel, Poictu, and Xaintonge being on their side, the War grew hot, and the King assembled together all his forces to suppress their Rebellion. The Duke of Anjou his Brother (who was since styled Henry the Third) acquired much honour by several gallant actions which he performed, and amongst the rest at the Battle of Jarnac, where the Prince of Conde was killed. In this War, it was that the Duke of Guise began first to have considerable employments, and to make it appear that he surpassed by much the great hopes which had been conceived of him.  
The Prince of Monpensier, who hated him, both as his particular enemy, and as that of his Family, beheld with Jealous eyes the Glory of the Duke, as well as the kindness which the Duke of Anjou showed him.  
After that both Armies had tired themselves by several small encounters; by a common consent of both Parties, the Troops were licenc'd for some time, to retire to their several Garrisons. The Duke of Anjou remained at Loches to distribute orders to all those places which in probability were like to be attacqed by the Enemy; the Duke of Guise tarried with him, and the Prince of Monpensier accompanied with the Count of Chabanes returned to Champigni, which was not far distant from thence.  
The Duke of Anjou went often to visit the Places which he was about to fortify, and one day as he returned to Loches by a by-way unknown to those of his retinue, the Duke of Guise, who bragged that he knew it, placed himself at the head of the Troop to serve them instead of a Guide; but after that he had rid some time, he lost himself, and found that he was upon the bank of a small River, which was unknown to him. The Duke of Anjou rallied with him, and jeered him for his ill conduct, and making a stop there (being disposed to mirth, as usually young Princes are) they perceived a small Boat which stood still in the midst of the River, which not being very broad, they could easily distinguish objects, and perceive in the Boat three or four Women, and amongst the rest, one who appeared to them very fair, who was in rich apparel, and who attentively regarded two men, who were in the same Boat with her, and were a fishing. This adventure caused a new joy both to these young Princes, and to those of their Train. It appeared to them as a Romance-like accident, some telling the Duke of Guise that he had purposely lost them only to make them have a view of this fair Person, others saying that (after what Fortune had done for him) he must of necessity grow amorous of her; and the Duke of Anjou maintained, that he was obliged to become her Lover.  
In fine, being resolved to see the conclusion of this adventure, they caused some of their followers to ride into the River, as far as possible, and to call to that Lady, and tell her, that the Duke of Anjou was there, and that he would willingly cross the Water, and entreated her to come, and take him in. This Lady (who was the Princess of Monpensier) hearing it said that the Duke of Anjou was there, and not doubting at all (through the quantity of people which she saw on the Riversside) but that it was he, caused her Boat to advance towards that side of the River, where he was; His graceful Mine made her soon distinguish him from the rest, but yet she sooner took notice of the Duke of Guise, whose sight wrought in her such an alteration that it caused her to blush, which rather augmented, then decreased her Beauty, and made her appear to the Eyes of these Princes, as a Person supernatural, and wholly divine.  
The Duke of Guise (in spite of that advantageous alteration which two or three years, since last he saw her, had made in her) immediately knew her, and informed the Duke of Anjou who she was, who was at first ashamed of the Liberty which he had taken, but perceiving the Princess of Monpensier so fair, and this adventure so much pleasing him, he resolved to complete it, and after a thousand excuses, and a thousand compliments, he invented a story of some considerable business, which he said he had to do on the other side of the River, and accepted of the proffer which she made him to carry him over in her Boat; he entered it alone acompanied only with the Duke of Guise, giving order to those that followed them to go, and cross the River at some other place, and to come and meet him at Champigni, which the Princess informed them was not above two Leagues distant from thence.  
As soon as they were in the Boat, the Duke of Anjou enquired of her, to what propitious Fate it was they owed so fortunate an adventure; and what detained her there in the midst of the River. She answered him, That she came from Champigni in company with the Prince her Husband, with a design to hunt; but finding herself too much tired, she came for refreshment to the River's side; where the curiosity to see a Salmon taken (which had entangled itself in a Net) had caused her to enter the Boat. The Duke of Guise did not at all interest himself in this discourse, but feeling that Passion began to revive again in his breast, which he had formerly had for that Princess, he suspected that he should find it a difficult task to escape from this adventure, without becoming again her captive.  
They soon arrived to the other side of the River, where they found the Pages, and Servants of the Princess of Monpensier, who there attended her. The Dukes of Anjou and Guise assisted her to get on Horseback, where she comported herself with an admirable grace. During the way, she entertained them with most exquisite discourse upon several subjects; so that they were no less surprised and charmed with her excellent parts, than they had been before with her Beauty, and they could not forbear to acquaint her how extremely they were amazed with those extraordinary perfections which they discovered in her. She answered to those commendations which they gave her with all the modesty imaginable, but a little more coldly to those which came from Duke of Guise; being willing to use a reservedness towards him, which should hinder him from building any hopes upon the inclination which formerly she had for him.  
Arriving at the outward-most Court at Champigni, they found the Prince of Monpensier, who but then returned from hunting. His amazement was great to behold two men ride on each side of his Wife, but it augmented extremely, when (approaching nearer) he perceived that they were, the Duke of Anjou, and the Duke of Guise. The hatred which he had for the last, joining itself to his natural jealousy made him find something so unpleasant to him to see these Princes in company with his Wife, without knowing what accident had brought them together, nor what they came to do at his house, that he could not conceal the disorder which it caused in him, though cunningly he rejected the cause of it upon the apprehension which he had, that he should not be able to receive so great a Prince, both according to his quality and to his own wishes.  
The Count of Chabanes appeared yet more perplexed to see the Duke of Guise with the Princess of Monpensier than seemed the Prince himself. The adventure which Fortune had made use of to bring these two Persons together appeared to him as an unlucky Omen, from whence he prognosticated that this Romance-like beginning would be followed by other accidents of the like nature.  
At Night the Princess of Monpensier entertained these Princes very generously, and with a civility which was natural to her. In fine, she pleased her Guests but too well. The Duke of Anjou, who was a Prince of a comely personage, and very accomplished, could not behold a person so worthy of him, without ardently desiring to enjoy her; soon became infected with the same Disease which possessed the Duke of Guise, and always feigning extraordinary affairs, he remained two days at Champigni, without being obliged to stay by any other motive, then by the charms of the Princess of Monpensier; the Prince her Husband not using any entreaties to retain him there.  
The Duke of Guise, before he departed, took an opportunity to acquaint the Princess, that he was still the same, which he had ever been, (and since his Passion had never been revealed to any) he often told her in public (without being overheard by any, but herself) that there was no change in his affection, but that at present he retained as much adoration, and respect for her, as ever.  
In fine, the Duke of Anjou, and he at length departed from Champigni with much regret. They rid a long while without speaking one to the other, and remained in a profound silence, till at last the Duke of Anjou, imagining that perhaps their silence might proceed from one and the same cause, demanded briskly of the Duke of Guise, if he meditated upon the beauty, and perfections of the Princess of Monpensier. This brisk demand, joined to what the Duke of Guise had already observed, concerning the inclinations of the Duke of Anjou, made him perceive, that infallibly he would become his Rival, and that it extremely imported him, not to discover his Love to that Prince; but to deprive him of all suspicion, he answered him smiling; That he appeared himself so much taken up with the imagination, wherewith he accused him, that he had judged it uncivil to interrupt him; That the Beauty of the Princess of Monpensier was no new thing to him; That he had accustomed himself to gaze on the Luster of her charms, without being dazzled with them, ever since she was designed to have been his Sister-in-Law, but that he perceived very well, that all persons were not so well prepared against them as himself. The Duke of Anjou ingeniously confessed to him, that he had neyer yet seen any thing, which in his opinion, seemed comparable to this young Princess; and that he found very well, that her presence might prove dangerous to him, if he should often expose himself in her company: he would fain have made the Duke of Guise confess, that he apprehended the same Fate himself too: but the Duke (who began now to make a serious affair of his Love) would confess nothing to him.  
These Princes returning to Loches entertained themselves often with a very pleasing discourse of the adventure which had caused them to discover the Princess of Monpensier: but it proved not a subject of so great diversion at Champigni. The Prince of Monpensier was discontented at all which had happened, without being able to give a Reason wherefore. His Wife's being in the Boat, appeared to him as an unlucky accident: It seemed to him, that she had entertained these Princes too kindly; and that which displeased him most, was to have observed that the Duke of Guise had regarded her very attentively.  
These thoughts caused him from that instant, to conceive a furious jealousy, which made him to remember the passion, and resentment, which that Duke had shown against his Marriage, and he had some thoughts, that, from that very time he had been amorous of her. The ill humour which these suspicions put him into, caused sometimes but ill usage to the Princess of Monpensier. The Count of Chabanes (according to his custom) took care to hinder, that their private discontents, broke not out into an open quarrel, endeavouring through that, to persuade the Princess how great, and real the passion was, which he had for her, and how disinteressed from all self-ends.  
Yet he could not refrain from ask her the effect which the sight of the Duke of Guise had produced in her. She acquainted him, That she had been troubled at it, through the shame which she had, to remember the kindness which she had formerly showed him: she confessed that she had found him far more accomplished now, then at that time; and that his discourse seemed to intimate, that he would persuade her to believe, that he still affected her; but she assured him, that nothing was able to force her to relinquish the resolution which she had taken never to engage herself in so perilous an Affair.  
The Count of Chabanes was much rejoiced to hear this resolution; but nothing could secure him against the suspicion which he had of the Duke of Guise. He represented to the Princess, that he extremely feared, that the first impressions of her Love would soon return, and made her apprehend the mortal grief which (for their common interest) he should have, if one day he should see her change her present resolutions. The Princess of Monpensier (always continuing her reservedness towards him) scarce answered to what he said concerning his passion, and never considered him, but in the Quality of her faithfullest friend, without doing him the honour to take notice of him as her Lover.  
The Armies having quitted their Garrisons, and being again upon their march, the Princes returned to their several Commands, and the Prince of Monpensier found it convenient, that his Wife should come to Paris, to be no more so near those places which were the seat of the War. The Huguenots besieged the City of Poitiers, and the Duke of Guise cast himself in the Town to defend it, where he performed such actions, during the Siege, which alone were sufficient to render for ever famous any other person, but himself.  
Soon after, was fought the Battle of Moncontour, and the Duke of Anjou, after he had taken St. John d' Angely, fell sick, and immediately quitted the Army, either through the violence of his distemper, or through the desire which he had to return and take his ease, and to participate of the pleasures and recreations enjoyed at Paris, where the presence of the Princess of Monpensier was not the least attracting object that drew him thither.  
The Army continued under the command of the Prince of Monpensier, and soon after, Peace being concluded, the Court, returned to Paris where the Beauty of the Princess eclipsed the Luster of all those, who till then had been admired; and the charming perfections both of her Wit and Person soon attracted the eyes of all the Court upon her, who considered her as a person that surpassed humanity. The Duke of Anjou changed not at all, at Paris, the inclinations which he had conceived for her at Champigni; and he took an extreme care to acquaint her with as much through all his actions, taking notwithstanding great heed not to render her too apparent testimonies of his affection, through fear to give jealousy to the Prince her Husband.  
The Duke of Guise, was now become passionately enamoured of this Princess, and being willing (for several reasons) to conceal his passion, he resolved with the first opportunity to declare it privately to her, thereby to avoyed all those various reports, which generally springs from public Courtship. Being one day at the Queen's apartment at a time when there was small company there (the Queen being retired to discourse about business with the Cardinal of Lorraine) the Princess of Monpensier coming in, he resolved to make use of that opportunity which Fortune presented him with, to speak to her; and approaching to her, I go about to surprise you Madam, (said he) and to displease you, in acquainting you, that I have ever preserved and cherished that passion which formerly was not unknown to you, but which since (through again seeing of you) is so much augmented, that neither the severity nor hatred of the Prince your Husband, nor the Pretensions, and Rivalship of the first Prince of the Realm, are able to reprieve me one moment from its violence. It would indeed have showed more respectful from me, to have revealed it to you by my actions; but Madam, my actions had discovered it to others, as well as to yourself; and I only desire, that you alone should know, that I am so presumptuous to adore you.  
The Princess was at first so surprised with this discourse, that she had no power to interrupt him; but recollecting herself, and going about to answer him, the Prince of Monpensier entered the Room, whose presence, with what the Duke of Guise had said to her, so disordered and perplexed the Princess, that it possessed him with greater suspicions, then if he had overheard the Duke of Guise's discourse. The Queen came out of her Closet, and the Duke retired himself, to cure the Prince of jealousy.  
The Princess of Monpensier at night found her Husband possessed with the greatest melancholy imaginable, and he behaved himself so passionately towards her, that he forbidden her evermore to speak to the Duke of Guise, which caused her to retire to her apartment; much possessed with sadness, for the adventures which had happened to her that day.  
The next following, she saw the Duke of Guise at the Queen's Lodgings; but he kept at a distance, and came not near her, but contented himself to go out of the Room presently after her, to make it appear to her, that he had no business there, when she was absent.  
Scarce a day passed in which she did not receive a thousand concealed assurances of this Duke's passion, without that he ever so much as attempted to mention it to her, but at such a time when none could take notice of it, and as she was well assured of the reality of this passion, she began (notwithstanding all the resolutions which she had made at Champigni to the contrary) to feel something of that passion return in her heart, which had formerly possessed it.  
The Duke of Anjou on his part forgot nothing which might declare his Love to her in all places where 'twas his fortune to see her, and made it his business continually to follow her, when she rendered visits to the Queen his Mother.  
About this time, it was taken notice of, that the Princess Margaret his Sister (who much affected him, and who was since Queen of Navarr) had some kindness for the Duke of Guise, and that which discovered it more, was, the reservedness which the Duke of Anjou showed to the Duke of Guise. The Princess of Monpensier soon learned this news, which seemed not indifferent to her, and which made her more sensible of the concern which she had for the Duke of Guise, than she thought she had been. Monsieur de Monpensier (her Father-in-Law) then marrying Mademoiselle de Guise (Sister to that Duke) she was constrained to see him often in those places, where the presence of both Parties was requisite to celebrate the Nuptial Ceremonies.  
The Princess of Monpensier no longer able to endure a man for her Servant, whom all France believed in Love with the Princess Margaret, resolved to take on her the boldness to acquaint him, how much she thought herself injured. And being offended, and grieved that she had deceived herself, One day, as the Duke of Guise met her at his Sisters, being separated from other company, and being about to speak to her concerning his passion, she briskly interrupted him, with a tone that signified her displeasure, and replied, I cannot comprehend why you should build such hopes upon the weak foundation of a folly, which I was guilty of at thirteen years old, as that you should have the boldness at present to make Love to such a person as myself, but above all, at such a time, when in the view of the whole Court, you appear engaged to an other.  
The Duke of Guise, that had a great deal of Wit, and was much in Love, had need to consult with no Oracle to understand the meaning of the Princess' words, answered her with much respect; I confess Madam, that I have been too blame, not to despise the honour of being Brother-in-law to my King, rather than to let you suspect one moment, that I could desire to possess any other heart, then yours; but if you will do me the favour as to hear me, I am confident I shall justify myself in your opinion.  
The Princess of Monpensier replied nothing, but she remained still, and went not away from him, and the Duke perceiving that she granted him the audience, which he had demanded, and wished for; acquainted her, That, without any endeavours of his own, used to gain it, the Princess Margaret had honoured him with her affection; but that having no Love for her, He had but very ill recompensed the favour which she did him, until such time that she had given him some hopes to marry her; that in truth, the grandeur to which this match might raise him, had obliged him to render her more observance and respect, then usual, which it seemed had given cause of suspicion both to the King, and to the Duke of Anjou; That the opposition both of the one, and the other dissuaded him not from his design; but if that design displeased her, he would from that very instant abandon it, and never think on it more, during his Life.  
This oblation which the Duke of Guise made of his own interest to please the Princess, soon made her forget all the rigour, and displeasure wherewith she had entertained him, when he first began to speak to her. She soon changed her discourse, and began to entertain him with the weakness which possessed the Princess Margaret to Love him first, and of the considerable advantage which he would receive in marrying her. In conclusion, without saying any thing obliging to the Duke of Guise, she discovered to him a thousand charming perfections, which he had formerly adored in Madamoiselle de Meziens: and though they had not long discoursed together, yet they found themselves so accustomed to one another's humours, that Love which was no stranger to their breasts, soon found out a way to return again into its ancient Channel.  
They thus finished this agreeable conversation, which left a very sensible impression of Joy upon the Duke of Guise; nor did the Princess participate a less share than he, to learn that he yet really affected her. But when she was retired to her Closet, what reflections did she not make upon the shame which she had, in suffering herself to be so soon overcome by the Duke of Guise's excuses; upon that Labyrinth of trouble, which she was agoing about to involve herself into, by engaging herself in a business, which she had regarded with so much horror, and detestation, and upon the dismal misfortunes, wherewith the jealous humour of her Husband seemed to threaten her, but these unpleasant thoughts were the next day soon discipated by the Duke of Guise's presence.  
He failed not to render her an exact account of that which passed between the Princess Margaret and himself, the new alliance of their Houses, often presented him with opportunities to speak to her; but he had no small trouble to cure her of the jealousy which the Beauty of the Princess Margaret gave her, against which all his Vows were to weak to secure her from suspicion. This jealousy served the Princess of Monpensier to defend the remainder of her heart, against the endeavours used to gain it by the Duke of Guise, who already possessed its greatest part.  
The King's marriage with the Princess Isabel (Daughter to the Emperor Maximilian) filled the whole Court with feasts and rejoicings. The King gave a Ball, where the Princess Margaret, and the rest of the Princesses danced, the Princess of Monpensier appearing the only person that could dispute the prize of Beauty with her. The Duke of Anjou, with the Duke of Guise, and four others, which were of their company danced an Antick-dance in the shape of Moors, their Habits were all alike, and such as are generally used on the like occasion.  
The first time that the Ball was danced, the Duke of Guise before he danced (not having put on his vizard) said something in passing by to the Princess of Monpensier, she soon perceived that the Prince her Husband had taken notice of it, which much disturbed her. Soon after seeing the Duke of Anjou, with his Vizard on, and dressed like a Moor, coming to speak to her▪ perplexed through her disorder, she believed that it was still the Duke of Guise, and approaching to him, Have no respect too night (said she) but for the Princess Margaret. I shall not be jealous, 'tis my command, I am observed, approach me no more. As soon as she had finished these words, she retired, and the Duke of Anjou remained as surprised, as if he had been Thunderstruck, he perceived at that instant that he had not only a Rival, but a Rival too beloved; he soon apprehended by the name of the Princess Margaret, that that Rival was the Duke of Guise, and he made no question, but that the Princess his Sister was the oblation which had rendered the Princess of Monpensier favourable to the vows of his Rival.  
Jealousy, Despite and Rage joining themselves to the hatred, which he had already for him, caused him to be possessed with whatsoever may be imagined of a most violent, and impetuous passion, and which had immediately produced some bloody Effect of his displeasure, had not that dissimulation which was so natural to him (and which at present was so requisite) soon rescued his Reason, from those violent motions of his passion, and obliged him, for several prevalent reasons, (as affairs then stood) not to attempt any thing against the Duke of Guise. Yet nevertheless he could not deprive himself of the satisfaction which he took to tell him, that he knew the secret of his Love; and accosting him in going out of the Room where they had danced, 'Tis too much (said he) to dare at once to raise your ambitious thoughts, to pretend to my Sister, and to deprive me of my Mistress. The respect which I bear the King, hinders me at present, from declaring my resentment; But remember that perhaps the loss of your life, shall be the smallest punishment wherewith, some time or other I shall chastise your temerity. The Duke of Guise, though unaccustomed to such menaces, yet he had no opportunity left him for an answer, because the King who went out at that instant, called them both, to speak to them, but they imprinted in his heart a desire of revenge, which he endeavoured all his life time to satisfy.  
From that very Night the Duke of Anjou began to render him all sort of ill turns (that lay in his power) with the King: he persuaded him that the Princess his Sister would never consent to marry the King of Navarre (with whom it was then propounded to marry her) so long as the Duke of Guise was suffered to come near her, and that it was a shame to suffer that one of his subjects (to satisfy his own Ambition) should bring any obstacle to a business, which (in probability) might give peace to France. The King bore already ill will enough against the Duke of Guise, and this discourse so augmented it, that seeing him next day, as he was about to enter the Room, designed for the Ball, at the Queen's Lodgings (adorned with an infinite number of Jewels, but yet more adorned by this graceful mine) he placed himself before the entrance of the door, and tartly demanded of him, where he went. The Duke without being daunted, answered, That he came to wait on him (and as it was his duty,) to render him his most humble service; to which the King replied, that he had no need of it, and so turned from him, without taking any further notice of him.  
The Duke of Guise, though for all this, did not forbear to enter the Room, enraged in his heart both against the King and the Duke of Anjou, but his grief served but to augment his natural fierceness, and through spite he oftener approached the Princess Margaret, than he had been accustomed to do, since what the Duke of Anjou had said to him concerning the Princess of Monpensier hindered him from regarding her.  
The Duke of Anjou carefully observed both one and the other: the countenance of that Princess (though she endeavoured all she could to conceal it) discovered the displeasure which she conceived, when the Duke of Guise spoke to the Princess Margaret. The Duke of Anjou, who through what she had said to him, when she mistook him for the Duke of Guise, had perceived that she was jealous, hoped to cause a misunderstanding between them, and setting himself down by her; 'Tis for your interest, Madam, more than for my own (said he) that I go about to acquaint you, that the Duke of Guise merits not that you should make choice of him to my prejudice; let me entreat you not to interrupt me to tell me the contrary of a truth, which I but too well know. He deceives you Madam, he sacrifices you to my Sister, as he has made an oblation of her, to you. 'Tis a man that is only capable of Ambition, but since he has had the good fortune to please you, 'tis enough. I will not hinder him to enjoy a happiness, which without doubt I merited better than he: I should render myself unworthy of it, if I should strive longer to obtain the conquest of a heart, which another possesses, 'tis enough that I have not hitherto, but incurred your dislike, and I would not willingly cause hatred to succeed, by any longer importuning you with the most ardent, and faithful passion that ever was.  
The Duke of Anjou, who was very sensibly wounded both with Love and grief, had scarce power to finish these words, and though he had begun his discourse through a malicious intent, and through a desire of vengeance; yet he grew so mollified in considering the Princess' Beauty, and the loss which he received in losing the hopes of ever being beloved, that without attending her answer, he went out from the Ball, feigning that he found himself indisposed, and went home to his own apartment to muse seriously upon his misfortune.  
The Princess of Monpensier remained afflicted and perplexed, as may be easily imagined, to see her reputation, and her most important secret, remaining in the hands of a Prince, whom she had treated ill, and and to learn from him (what she could now no longer doubt off) that she had been deceived by her Lover. Which added together, proved things that did not leave her so much Mistress of her passions, as was requisite she should be, in a place destined only to mirth and jollity, Yet she was forced to remain there, and afterwards to go and sup at the Duchess of Monpensier's (her Mothers-in-law) who took her along with her.  
The Duke of Guise who languished with impatience to relate to her what the Duke of Anjou had said to him the day before, followed her to his Sisters, but how great was his amazement, when going about to entertain this fair Princess with discourse, he found that she replied not to what he said, but only made him most fearful reproaches; and her passion caused her to make those reproaches so confusedly, that he could comprehend nothing from them, but only that she accused him of infidelity and Treason.  
O'erwhelmed with despair to find cause for so great an augmentation of grief, where he had hoped to find consolation for all his discontents; and affecting the Princess with a passion so violent, which left him not that liberty to remain dubious, whither he were again beloved, or no; he resolved to hazard all at once and to give her an infallible proof of his his affection. You shall be satisfied Madam (said he) I will do that for you, which all the Royal-Authority should not have obtained from me, nor have forced me to perform. It will cost me my Fortune, but that is a thing too inconsiderable to be valued, to satisfy you.  
Without remaining any longer at the Duchess his Sisters, he went immediately to find out the Cardinals his Uncles, and under pretext of the ill treatment which he had received from the King, he represented to them so great a necessity, to secure his fortune, for him to make it appear, that he had no thoughts to marry the Princess Margaret, that he engaged them to conclude his marriage with the Princess of Portia, who had already been propounded to him.  
The news of this marriage was soon known throughout all Paris, every body seemed amazed at it, and the Princess of Monpensier was possessed at the hearing of it, both with joy, & grief; she was much pleased to see the power which she had over the Duke of Guise; but at the same instant, she was as much displeased to have caused him to relinquish a design so advantageous to him, as was his marriage with the Princess Margaret.  
The Duke of Guise who had a mind that Love should recompense him for what he lost by Fortune, pressed the Princess to grant him a private audience, to clear himself of the unjust reproaches which she had made him, and he obtained from her a promise that she would be at the Duchess of Monpensiers' (his Sisters) at such a time when that Duchess should be absent, and when he might entertain her in private.  
The Duke of Guise soon received the effect of this promise, and had the happiness to prostrate himself at her feet, and the freedom to declare to her his passion, and to inform her how much he suffered through her suspicions. The Princess, who could not forget what the Duke of Anjou had told her, (though the Duke of Guise's proceed aught sufficiently to have secured her from jealousy) acquainted him with the just cause which she had to believe that he had betrayed her, since the Duke of Anjou knew that, which it was impossible for him to have learned from any other, but himself. The Duke of Guise knew not what defence to make for himself, and appeared as much perplexed as the Princess of Monpensier, to divine who (in probability) had discovered their intelligence. In fine, in the remainder of her discourse, as she represented to him that he had been too blame to precipitate his marriage with the Princess of Portia, and to abandon that of the Princess Margaret, which would have proved so advantageous to him, she told him that he might well judge that she was not at all jealous of it, since that at the Ball she herself had conjured him to have no respect for any there, but for that Princess.  
The Duke of Guise replied, that 'twas possible that she might have had an intention to impose that command upon him, but assuredly that she had not done it. The Princess maintained the contrary; and in conclusion, at length with disputing, and examining one an others arguments, they found that of necessity, she must have deceived herself, through the resemblance of their habits, and that she herself had revealed that to the Duke of Anjou, which she accused the Duke of Guise to have acquainted him with.  
The Duke of Guise, who was almost justified in her opinion, through his marriage, became entirely so, through this conversation. This fair Princess thought she could not with justice refuse her heart to a man who had formerly possessed it, and who but lately had abandoned all his amambitious pretensions for her sake, she soon consented to accept his services, and permitted him to believe, that she was not insensible of his passion. The arrival of the Duchess of Monpensier (her Mother-in-law) put a conclusion to this discourse, and hindered the Duke Guise from declaring to her the transports of his joy.  
Shortly after the Court removing to Bloys, the Princess of Monpensier followed it thither, where the marriage of the Princess Margaret, with the King of Navarre was concluded. The Duke of Guise knowing nothing more of grandure, and good fortune, then to be beloved by the Princess of Monpensier, beheld, at present, with joy the conclusion of that marriage, which perhaps at another time had overwhelmed him with despair: but yet he could not so well conceal his Love, but that the Prince of Monpensier discovered something of it, who being no longer Master of his jealousy, commanded the Princess his Wife to departed for Champigni. This command seemed very harsh to her, but yet she was forced to obey it. She found means to take her leave in private of the Duke of Guise, but she was much perplexed to find out a sure way for him to convey Letters to her; in fine, after she had ruminated on several, she at last fixed her thoughts upon the Count of Chabanes, who she always accounted for her friend, without considering that hewas her Lover.  
The Duke of Guise, who knew to what degree the Count was a friend to the Prince of Monpensier, was amazed that she chose him for her confident: but she assured him so much of his fidelity, that she secured him from suspicion. This discourse ended, he parted from her possessed with all the grief which absence and separation (from the belov'd Person) can cause in the breast of an afflicted Lover.  
The Count of Chabanes, who, during the time of the Princess of Monpensier, being at Blois, had been sick at Paris, hearing that she went to Champigni, met her upon the way, to wait on her thither: She now began to show him several tokens of kindness and good will, and testified to him an extraordinary impatiency to discourse with him particularly in private. But what was his surprisal and his grief when he found, that this impatiency only signified to relate to him that she was passionately beloved by the Duke of Guise, and that she had a reciprocal kindness for him: his grief and his astonishment was so great, that it permitted him not to return a reply to what the Princess had said, who was so taken up with her passion, and who found her mind so much eased to discourse to him of it, that she took no notice of his silence, but went on with her discourse, and related to him what had happened to her, with such exactness, that she forgot not the least circumstance material to her story. She acquainted him how the Duke of Guise and herself were agreed to receive through his means the Letters which they had engaged to write to each other.  
These words proved like mortal wounds to the Count of Chabanes, to see that his Mistress would have him serve his Rival, and that she herself propounded this to him as as a thing which would be very pleasing to her. Yet he was so absolutely Master of himself, that he concealed from her his resentment, and only acquainted her how much he was surprised to perceive in her so great a change. He hoped at first that this alteration of her humour, which deprived him of all his hopes, would deprive him of his passion too: but he found this Princess so charming, her natural Beauty being lately much augmented by a certain graceful air and carriage which she had learned at Court, that he was very sensible that he loved her more than ever. The great confidence she reposed in him, in acquainting him with her secret kindness and tenderness she had of the Duke of Guise's respect made him discover of what an inestimable value the affection of this Princess was, and caused in him an ardent desire to possess it. And as his passion was extraordinary, so it produced in him the most extraordinary effect imaginable, for it made him undertake to deliver to his Mistress the Letters of his Rival.  
The Duke of Guise's absence caused the Princess of Monpensier to become exceeding pensive, and not hoping to receive any comfort, but from his Letters, she incessantly importuned the Count of Chabanes to know if he received none, and grew almost passionate with him, that he had not yet delivered her any. At last he rereceived one, brought him by a Gentleman belonging to the Duke of Guise, which he immediately carried to the Princess, not to retard her Joy one moment, which was excessive at the receiving of it, and she took no care to conceal it from him, but inviting him to participate of that which was as pleasant as poison to him, she favoured him with the reading of the Letter to him, and the affectionate and witty Reply which she made to it; this answer he carried to the Gentleman that brought the other, with the same fidelity with which he had rendered to the Princess the Letter which he had received, but with far more grief. Yet he comforted himself a little with thoughts that this Princess would make some reflection upon what he did for her, and hoped that she would prove so grateful to acknowledge it, but finding her aversion to increase more, and more every day against him, through the ill humour which she was in for the Duke of Guise's absence, he took the liberty upon him to entreat her to be mindful a Little of what he suffered for her. The Princess whose inclinations were solely fixed upon the Duke of Guise, and who found none (in her opinion) but him alone worthy to adore her, resented so ill that any other should dare to pretend Love to her, that she treated the Count of Chabanes worse on this occasion, than she had done at first, when he mentioned Love to her. And though his passion, as well as his patience, was extreme, and had appeared to be so upon all occasions, yet he departed from the Princess, and went to a friends house (not far distant from Champigni) from whence he writ to her with all the passion, which so strange a procedure could inspire him with, but yet too with all the respect that was due both to her Quality and Person, and by his Letter took an Eternal farewell of her.  
The Princess began to repent herself to have disobliged a man, over whom she had such power; and being unwilling to lose him, not only through the amity which she had for him, but also through the interest of her Love, (to serve her in which his friendship was extremely requifite) she sent him word that she desired yet once more to speak with him, and that afterwards she left him the liberty to dispose of himself as he pleased.  
Lovers are generally very weak, and are soon o'ercome by any thing that bears but the least shape of encouragement when once in Love. The Count obeyed her message, and returned, and in less than in the space of one hour the Beauty of the Princess of Monpensier, her Wit, and some obliging words, rendered him more submissive, and more her slave then ever. Nay he gave her too immediately the Letters, which he had but then newly received from the Duke of Guise.  
About this time, the desire which they had at Court to cause the chief of the Huguenot-Party to come thither, to effect that execrable design, which was executed on St. Bartholomewes' day, made the King (the better to delude them) to send away from about him all the Princes of the house of Bourbon, and of the house of Guise. The Prince of Monpensier returned to Champigni, where his presence served but to overwhelm the Princess his Wife with grief.  
The Duke of Guise retired himself in the Country to the Cardinal of Lorrain's his Uncle's, where Love, and want of employment, caused so violent a desire in him to see the Princess of Monpensier, that without considering what he did hazard both for her and himself, he feigned a journey, and leaving all his train at a small village on the way, he took only with him that Gentleman, who already had made several journeys to Champigni, and took Post thither: and as he had no other Person to make his address to, but to the Count of Chabanes he caused his Gentleman to write him a Note, by which the Gentleman entreated him to come and meet him at a place which he appointed him.  
The Count of Chabanes, believing that it was only to receive Letters from the Duke of Guise, went and met him, but he was extremely surprised, and no less afflicted, when he saw the Duke of Guise, his affliction equalling his amazement. The Duke, prepossessed with his design took no more notice of the Count's perplexity, than the Princess of Monpensier had done of his silence, when she related her Love to him. He began to exaggerate his passion to him, and to make him believe that he should infallibly die, if he did not obtain for him from the Princess, the permission to see her. The Count of Chabanes answered him coldly. That he would acquaint the Princess with all that he desired, and that he would come and return him an answer.  
Their discourse ended, he returned to Champagni assaulted by such various passions, that sometimes their violence deprived him of his Reason, and he often took a resolution to return to the Duke of Guise without acquainting the Princess of Monpensier with his being there; but the exact fidelity which he had promised her soon changed that resolution.  
He arrived at Champigni, without knowing what he had best to do, but being informed that the Prince of Monpensier was gone out a hunting, he went directly to the apartment of the Princess, who seeing him troubled, caused her women immediately to retire, to know the subject of that disorder: he told her (moderating his grief as much as possible) that the Duke of Guise was within a league of Champigni, and that he passionately desired to see her.  
The Princess at the relation of this unexpected news gave a great cry, and her disorder seemed to be little less than that of the Count Her love at first represented to her the joy, which she should have to see a man whom she so tenderly affected; but when she considered how contrary this action was to those strict rules of virtue which she always practised, and that she could not see her Lover, but by suffering him at midnight to enter her apartment, she found herself perplexed extremely.  
The Count of Chabanes (who attended her answer as an Oracle to pronounce to him either Life, or Death) judging of the incertainty of the Princess' resolution by her silence, ventured to speak to her, to represent to her all those dangers which she would through this interview expose herself too, and being willing that she should perceive that he made her not this discourse upon the account of his own interest he told her. If Madam, after all which I have represented to you, your passion is yet more prevalent with you then my Arguments, and that you desire to see the Duke of Guise, let not my consideration (if that of your own interest does not do it) hinder you from obtaining your wishes. I will not deprive a Person I adore of so great a satisfaction, nor cause her to search for persons less faithful than myself to procure it for her. Yes Madam if you consent, I will go this very Night, and find the Duke (since 'tis too hazardous to leave him longer where he is) and bring him here to your apartment. But by what way, and how, said the Princess, interrupting him. Ah Madam (cried the Count) 'tis done already, since you only deliberate upon the means, that fortunate Lover shall come Madam: I will bring him through the Park, give order only to one of your Women (in whom you most confide) that she should let down precisely at midnight, the little drawbridge which reaches from your Antichamber to the Garden, and do not disquiet yourself about the rest. Finishing these words, he risen up from his seat, and without attending any further consent from the Princess of Monpensier, he went out and took horse, and went to find out the Duke of Guise, who with an extreme impatiency expected him.  
The Princess of Monpensier remained so troubled at what had happened that it was some time before she came to herself again; but as soon as she had recovered the use of her reason, her first intention was to have had the Count of Chabanes called back, and to forbid him to bring the Duke of Guise thither, but it lay not in her power to put this thought in execution. She imagined that without calling of him back again, it was only requisite not to let down the Drawbridge to spoil their design, and she believed that she should have continued in that resolution, but when the hour of appointment was come, she could no longer resist against the Desire which she had to see a Lover whom she judged so worthy to adore her; and she instructed one of her woman with all, that was requisite to introduce the Duke of Guise into her apartment.  
In the interim that Duke & the Count of Chabanes approached near to Champigni, but in a very different condition; the Duke abandoned his mind only to Joy, and to whatsoever hope and good success, inspires of most agreeable, and pleasing into a Lover: but the Count, on the contrary, abandoned himself over to despair and rage, which moved him a thousand times (had not his honour, and the Baseness of the action prevented him) to have thrust his Sword through the body of his Rival. At last they arrived at Champigni, where they left their horses with the Duke of Guise's Page, and passing through the breaches, which were in the wall, they ent'red in the Garden.  
The Count of Chabanes, amidst his despair, always retained some hopes that the Princess of Monpensiers' reason would at length return, and aid her against her passion, and that in the end she would take a resolution not to see the Duke of Guise: but when he saw the Drawbridge let down, he could then no longer doubt the contrary, and at that instant his passion grew so violent, and so unruly that he was ready to have executed the last effects of his despair; but recollecting himself, and thinking that if he made a noise, he should apparently be heard by the Prince of Monpensier (whose apartment looked out upon the same Garden) and that all that confusion would in the end light upon the persons whom he most affected, his rage (no longer agitated by the violence of his passion) immediately grew calm, and suffered him to accomplish his design, and to conduct the Duke of Guise to the feet of his Princess: where not being able to be a witness of their discourse (though the Princess testified to him, that she desired it, and though he wished it himself) he retired into a small passage (which was contingent to the Prince of Monpensiers Lodgings) being perplexed with the most sad and dismal thoughts, that did ever possess the mind of a disconsolate Lover.  
In the mean while, though in their passage over the Draw-bridge they had been careful to make but small noise: yet the Prince of Monpensier, (who through misfortune) awaked at that instant, heard them, and caused one of his Gentlemen, belonging to his chamber, to rise, to see what it was. The Gentleman put his head out of the window, and though the night was dark, yet through its obscurity, he could discover light enough to perceive that the Bridge was let down: he advertized his Master of it, who presently commanded him to go into the Park, and see what was the matter. Immediately after he risen up himself, being disquieted, with thinking that he heard some body walk about, and came directly to the apartment of the Princess his Wife, which was opposite against the Bridge.  
At the very instant when he approached that small passage, where the Count of Chabanes was, it chanced that the Princess of Monpensier who was ashamed to find herself alone with the Duke of Guise, entreated the Count several times to enter in her chamber, but he always excused himself, and as she continued still pressing him, (possessed with grief and passion) he answerded her so loud, that he was heard by the Prince of Monpensier, but so confusedly, that the Prince only heard the voice of a man, without distinguishing that of the Count  
An adventure of the like nature had given cause of suspicion to a mind possessed with more tranquillity, and less jealousy than this Prince: so that it soon produced in him an effect both of rage and fury, which made him knock with impetuosity at the Princess' chamber door, and calling aloud to cause it to be opened, he gave the greatest surprise imaginable to the Princess, the Duke of Guise, and to the Count of Chabanes, and this last hearing the Prince's voice, soon apprehended that it was impossible to hinder him from being persuaded, but that there was some body in the Princess his Wife's Chamber, and the greatness of his passion representing to him, that if he found the Duke of Guise there, the Princess of Monpensier would have the affliction to see him murdered before her Eyes, and that the very life itself of this Princess would not be secured from danger (these thoughts inspiring him with a resolution worthy of himself) he resolved by an unparallelled Generosity, to expose himself to the Prince's fury, to save from ruin an ungrateful Mistress and a Beloved Rival; and whilst the Prince gave a thousand knocks at the Door, he went to the Duke of Guise, who knew not what Resolution to take, and committed to the care of the Princess of Monpensiers' Woman, who had assisted them to enter by the Draw-bridge, to conduct him out by the same way, whilst that he opposed himself to sustain the Prince's fury.  
Scarce was the Duke got out of the Antichamber, but the Prince, having forced the passage door, entered in the Chamber as a man possessed with rage and fury, and who sought an object against whom he might vent his displeasure. But when he saw no body but the Count of Chabanes, and that he saw him remain unmovable, leaning upon the Table, with a countenance in which sadness was represented in its lively colours, he remained unmovable as the other, and his surprise was so excessive to find alone, and at midnight in his Wife's Chamber, the only man for whom he had the greatest kindness in the world, that it so disordered him, that it left him not the power to speak. The Princess was laid down upon some Cushions, in a condition ready to faint away, and perhaps Fortune never represented three Persons in a state more worthy of Commiseration.  
In Fine, the Prince of Monpensier who could scarce believe his Eyes, and give credit to what he saw, but imagined it to be some fallacy, or some illusion, and who had an intent to disengage himself from that Chaos of confusion in which this adventure had invellopped him, and addressing his speech to the Count in a tone which showed that he yet retained a kindness for him; What is't I see (said he) is't real, or is't some illusion? Is't possible, that a man whom I have loved so dearly, should choose my Wife above all others to seduce her? And you Madam (said he) turning to the Princess, was it not sufficient to deprive me of your heart, and of my honour, without depriving me of the only man capable to comfort me in these misfortunes. Answer me either the one, or the other (continued he) and clear me from the suspicions that I have conceived of an accident, which I cannot believe to be such as it appears.  
The Princess remained unable to answer, and the Count of Chabanes opened several times his lips, without being able to bring forth a word, but at last, I am criminal (said he) as to what concerns you, and unworthy of the friendship which you have shown me, but 'tis not after the nature, which perhaps you may imagine. I am myself more misfortunate, and in a more desperate condition than you. My death shall revenge you, of what I have been culpable of towards you, and if you will deprive me of Life presently, 'tis the only favour which you can bestow upon me that will be acceptable, and welcome to me.  
These words (uttered with a mortal grief, and an air which sufficiently declared his innocency) in stead of clearing the Prince of Monpensier from his suspicions, persuaded him more, and more to believe that there was some hidden mystery concealed in this adventure, which surpassed his imagination to divine, and his despair augmenting through this incertainty. Either deprive me of life yourself (said he) or give me some explanation of your words. I comprehend nothing, you own this satisfaction to my moderation, since any other, but myself, before this, would have imprinted characters of vengeance upon your heart for so sensible an affront, and have sacrificed your life, to expiate your crime. The evidences are very false (answered the Count in interrupting him,) Ah they are too visible and too apparent (replied the Prince) I must revenge myself first, and then search out the mystery of this adventure at leisure.  
In saying these words he drew near to the Count of Chabanes with the action of a man possessed with rage and fury. The Princess fearing some mischief would follow (which though could not well happen, since her Husband had no Sword about him) risen to cast herself between them, but her faintness was so great, that it forced her to sink under this endeaovur, for as she approached the Prince her Husband, she fell down in a swound at his feet.  
The Prince was yet more concerned at his Wives fainting, than he had been at the tranquillity which he found possessed the Count when he approached him, and not being able longer to endure the sight of two persons who gave him such cause for grief and discontent, he turned his head on the other side, and threw himself upon his Wife's bed, o'erwhelmed with an unimaginable grief.  
The Count of Chabanes penetrated with repentance, to have abused a friend from whom he received so many tokens of kindness, and finding that he could never make amends for what he had committed, departed hastily out of the Chamber, and passing through the Prince's apartment, of which he found the doors open, he descended into the Court, took horse, and guided only by his despair, he wandered up and down the Country till at length he arrived at Paris.  
In the interim, the Prince of Monpensier, who saw that the Princess returned not from her swound, left her to the care of her Women, and retired into his Chamber, possessed with a mortal grief.  
The Duke of Guise, who was got safe out of the Park, without almost knowing what he did (so much he was troubled at what had happened) departed some few Leagues from Champigni, but he could go no further, without hearing some news of the Princess; which caused him to stay in a Forest, and to send his Page to inquire of the Count of Chabanes, what had succeeded that misfortunate adventure.  
The Page could not find the Count of Chabanes, but he learned from others, that the Princess of Monpensier was extraordinary ill. The Duke of Guise's disquiet was much augmented by what his Page related to him, but without being able to hinder it, or to receive any comfort, he was constrained to return to his Uncles, lest he should give them cause of suspicion through his longer absence.  
The Duke of Guise's Page had indeed related to him the truth, in telling that the Princess of Monpensier was extreme ill, for the truth was, that as soon as her Women had got her to bed, she was seized with so violent a Fever, and withal began to grow so lightheaded, that from the very second day of her sickness, her Life was in extreme danger, and her recovery was much feared.  
The Prince feigned to be sick too, to the end that none should be amazed why he entered not into his Wife's Chamber, but the order which he received to return to Court, whither all the Catholic Princes were summoned to exterminate the Huguenots, hope him out of the perplexity into which this adventure had plunged him, and he returned to Paris not knowing what he ought either to hope, or fear concerning the Princess his Wife's distemper. He was but scarce arrived there, when they begun to attack the Huguenots in the person of one of the chiefs of their Party, the Admiral of Chastillon, and two days after was performed that horrible Massacre, for its execrableness, so famous throughout all Europe.  
The poor Count of Chabanes, who came with an intent to conceal himself in one of the remotest parts of the Suburbs of Paris, there to abandon himself over entirely to his grief, was enveloped in the Huguenots ruin. The Persons where he lodged having known him, and remembering that he had been suspected to be of that Party, murdered him that very night which proved so fatal to several persons. In the morning the Prince of Monpensier going out of Town to distribute some orders to keep all in peace and quietness, passed through the Street where the murdered body of Chabanes lay. At first he was seized with astonishment at the sight of this deplorable spectacle, but afterwards his friendship reviving, it caused in him some grief, but the remembrance of the affront which he besieved he had received from the Count at length gave him joy, and he seemed contented (without any endeavours of his own) to see himself revenged by Fortune.  
The Duke of Guise's thoughts being taken up with a desire to revenge his Father's death (and soon after being overjoyed to have accomplished it) his affection by degrees began to diminish, and to grow less and less for the Princess of Monpensier, and he began to be less concerned to hear from her then formerly, and finding that the Marchioness of Noirmoustier, a Person possessed with a great deal of Wit and Beauty, gave him more encouragement and hopes then that Princess, he engaged himself entirely to her, and loved her with an unexpressable passion, which endured till death (which at last frees us from all our passions) put an end to their affection.  
In the mean while, after that the Princess of Monpensiers' disease was arrived to the height, it began to decrease, she recovered again the use of her reason, and finding herself somewhat comforted through the absence of the Prince her Husband, she gave some assurance, and hopes of her recovery, her health notwithstanding returned not to her but with great trouble, through the ill disposition of her mind, which was again of a new perplexed, when she bethought herself, that she had heard no news at all of the Duke of Guise, during the whole time of her sickness. She enquired of her Women, if they had seen no body that came from him, and if they had received no Letters, and finding nothing which answered her expectations, and which she had wished for, she imagined herself to be the most unhappy Person in the world to have hazarded all, for a man who in the end forsook her, and it yet proved a new addition to her misfortunes, to learn the death of the Count of Chabanes, which she soon heard of (through the care which the Prince her Husband took to have her acquainted with it) and the Duke of Guise's ingratitude made her more sensible of the loss of a man whose fidelity was so well known to her.  
Such heavy discontents soon forced her to sink under their weight, and reduced her into a condition far more dangerous than that from which she was but lately escaped, and as the Marchioness of Noirmoustier was a Person who took as great care to have the addresses which were made to her taken notice of, as others did to conceal them: those of the Duke of Guise soon became so public, that at as great a distance, and as sick as the Princes of Monpensier was, she heard them confirmed from so many hands, that she could no longer doubt of her misfortune.  
This news proved fatal to her life, and now her courage grew too weak longer to sustain the weight of her misfortunes, she could no longer resist against the grief which she had to have lost the estimation of her Husband, the heart of her Lover, and the most faithfullest friend that ever was. She died in few days after in the prime of her age, one of the most Beautiful'st Princesses of the world, and who without doubt had been the most happiest, if Virtue and Prudence had but had the conduct of her actions.  
FINIS.