"True, sire, true," replied Diana of Poitiers, "your armies are retrieving all that was once lost. But your country, sire, alas! your country is not. France suffers, France groans even, while Spain is wounded, and each blow that you strike at the enemy but injures yourself far more." The king was about to reply, but she stopped him eagerly: "I am foolish to argue with you," she continued; "You have said I have triumphed, you have said I shall have the powers; and, though he may conquer me in argument, my Henry's word is never broken. Besides," she added, "have I not a private suit to be heard and granted also?" "Ha!" said the king, after pausing thoughtfully for a moment or two, as if he were still unconvinced, and unwilling to leave the subject on which they had just been conversing, "ha! I had forgot! You did mention some private suit--what, I remember not now, sweet Diana. But yet it is hard even to hear of peace after defeat. Were we just hot from victory--were we flushed with triumph, and our enemy reduced to lowly supplication--then, indeed, then we might hear of terms of peace, and grant them liberally and willingly. But after this accursed battle of St. Laurence; after so total, so signal, and terrible a defeat--the constable himself taken, one half of the nobility of the land wounded or slain, our soldiers scattered, and our provinces, invaded--it is bitter indeed to hear the name of peace." "As bitter to Henry's heart," replied the lady, "as the sound of war to many another man. But you have promised, sire. You have promised Montmorency the full powers, and--you have forgotten my petition." "Well, well," said the king, with a sigh, "what is your petition? I know that you have no private interest in this matter, Diana, You never were a friend to Montmorency." The lady coloured slightly, but replied at once. "I never was his friend, sire, while haughty fortune smiled upon him, and when he urged measures harsh and injurious to the country upon your majesty; but I will own that I am his friend now, when, bearing his adversity with calmness and with dignity, he would fain persuade your majesty to that which is most necessary for the safety of your realm. So much, indeed, am I his friend, your majesty, now, that I have promised to mingle our families together by the marriage of our sweet Henrietta with his son Damville. Nay, start not, sire, I told you of this before." "Did you?" exclaimed the king, "did you? I recollect it not. Yet now methinks I do remember something thereof; but I must have been thinking of other things. How can I consent to such a contract?" continued the king. "Recollect, dear lady! Is there not a story current of Damville, like his brother, having bound himself by a secret marriage to an Italian woman?"