Margaret alighted from her litter, and was hardly settled in her apartments before she felt quite happy, for she had escaped at last from the pomps and struggles of the court of France. She laid aside her showy dresses and her grand manners; she hid the majesty of her house beneath a candour and friendliness that enchanted all who came near her. Dressed like a plain gentlewoman, she quitted the castle, crossed the Baise which flows through the city, and rambled along the beautiful walks of the neighbourhood, having for companions only the seneschaless of Poitou or one of her young ladies of honour. But she had come for something more than this. Having fled far from the palaces and cities where the persecuting spirit of Rome and of the parliament was raging, she occupied herself more particularly in giving a fresh impulse to the evangelical movement in the southern provinces. Her activity was inexhaustible. She sent out _colporteurs_ who made their way into houses, and while selling jewellery to the young women, presented them also with New Testaments, printed in fine characters, ruled in red and bound in vellum with gilt edges. 'The mere sight of these books,' says an historian, 'excited a desire to read them.' Around the queen everybody was in motion, labouring and murmuring like a hive of bees. 'Margaret,' says the king's historiographer, 'was the precious flower that adorned this parterre, and whose perfume attracted the best spirits of Europe to Bearn, as thyme attracts honey-bees.'[54] The queen might often be seen surrounded by a troop of sufferers, to whom she showed the tenderest respect. These were the refugees: Lefèvre of Etaples, Gerard Roussel, converted priests and monks, and a number of laymen, obliged to leave France, which they had been able to do, thanks to the queen who had assisted their flight. 'The good princess,' said a Catholic, 'has really nothing more at heart than to get those out of the way whom the king wishes to deliver up to the severities of justice. If I attempted to give the names of all those whom she has saved from punishment, I should never finish.'[55] The Christians exiled for the Gospel did not make her forget the wretched of her own country. One day, when Roussel was describing to her the unfortunate situation of a poor family, Margaret said nothing; but returning to her chamber, she threw a Bearnese hood over her shoulders, and, followed by a single domestic, went out by a private door, hastened to the sufferers, and comforted them with the tenderest affection.[56]