Mary died at thirty-two, lamented by all who had known her. "So charitable," says Evelyn, "that in the midst of the most violent political strifes, she never inquired into the views of those who asked her aid;" gentle and kind to all, often attracting censure through the fullness of her wifely devotion, which seemed to have absorbed all other affections in her soul--the only sort of tenderness that could have satisfied the reserved and proud heart of the prince her husband. She had welcomed, during her illness, the advances of her sister. When she had shut her eyes, the Princess Anne sent to ask her brother-in-law permission to see him. Somers offered to mediate between the princess and the king. He found William in his study, his head between his hands, absorbed in grief; he represented to him the necessity of putting an end to a family quarrel, of which the political consequences might become grave. {59} "Do what you wish, my lord," replied the king; "I cannot think about anything." Yet the interview that was asked for took place. William assigned the palace of St. James to the princess for her residence. At the same time he sent her her sister's jewels; but he kept his resolution about the Earl of Marlborough. The princess's favorites were not admitted to the presence of the king, and the general remained excluded from every honorable or lucrative post. Yet Mary's death had changed all the views of Marlborough: a single life, precarious by nature, shaken by fatigues and cares, now stood in the way of the greatness of Princess Anne, and the supreme exaltation of her all-powerful adherents. The earl and his wife no longer retained their regard for the fallen monarch; they no longer admitted the legitimacy of the Prince of Wales. They patiently awaited the day of triumph; other more guilty hands were going to undertake to hasten it.