Her noble sister-in-law, Madame de Montpensier,[118*] of whom I do hope to speak further elsewhere, did also bewail her husband bitterly. Albeit she did lose him when still very young, and beautiful and charming for many perfections both of mind and body, she did never think of marrying again,—and this although she had wedded him when a mere child in years, and he might have been her grandfather, so that she had tasted but sparely with him of the fruits of wedlock. Yet would she never consent to indulge a second taste of the same and make up her defect and arrears in that kind by another marriage. I have heard not a few noblemen, gentlemen and great ladies oftentimes express their wonder that the Princesse de Condé, the Dowager Princess I mean, of the house of Longueville, did always refuse to marry again, seeing how she was one of the most beautiful ladies in all France, and one of the most desirable. But she did remain satisfied with her condition of widowhood, and would never take a second husband, and this though left a widow very young. The Marquise de Rothelin, her mother, did the like, who beautiful woman as she was, died a widow. Verily mother and daughter both might well have set afire a whole kingdom with their lovely eyes and sweet looks, the which were renowned at Court and through France for the most charming and alluring ever seen. And doubtless they did fire many hearts; yet never a word was ever to be spoke of love or marriage, both having loyally kept the faith once pledged to their dead husbands, and never married again. I should never have done if I were to name all the Princesses of our Kings’ Courts in similar case. I must e’en defer their panegyric to another place. So I will leave them now, and say somewhat of sundry other ladies, which though no Princesses, be yet of as illustrious race and generous heart as they. Fulvia Mirandola, Madame de Randan, of the noble house of Admirande, did remain unwed, though left a widow in the flower of her age and her exquisite beauty. So great mourning did she make over her loss, that never more would she deign to look at herself in her mirror, but refused the sight of her lovely face to the pellucid crystal that was so fain to see the same. Her act though not her words were like those of an ancient dame, which breaking her mirror and dedicating the fragments to Venus, spake these words to the Goddess: Dico tibi Veneri speculum, quai cernere talem Qualis sum nolo, qualis eram nequeo. (To thee, Venus, I do dedicate my mirror, for such as I am now, I care not to see myself, and such as I was, I cannot more.)