From the contemplation of the bewitching Françoise de Foix we must turn to another lovely woman, who formed part of the assemblage in the gallery. This was the king's sister, Marguerite de Valois, Duchess d'Alençon--La Marguerite des Marguerites, as she was styled by her royal brother, who tenderly loved her. Graceful of person, beautiful of feature, amiable in disposition, a model of virtue in a depraved court, united to a husband she could not respect, and who was incapable of appreciating her merits, yet to whom she was faithful, highly accomplished, learned, and witty, the Duchess d'Alençon was the chief ornament of the court of François I. About two years subsequent to the period of our history Marguerite was liberated from her husband by death, and espoused in her second nuptials Henri d'Albret, King of Navarre--a consort in all respects better suited to her. As Queen of Navarre, her court was thronged by poets, savants, and men of letters. Clement Marot thus eulogises her:= ```Entre autres dons de grâces immortelles, ```Madame écrit si haut et doucement, ```Que je m'étonne, en voyant choses telles, ```Qu'on n'en reçoit plus d'ebanissement. ```Puis quand je l'ouis parler si sagement, ```Et que je vois sa plume travailler, ```Je tourne bride, et m'ébanis comment ```On est si sot de s'en émerveiller.= Ronsard, then a handsome page, thus addresses her:= ````Ainsi tu fus, ô princesse, ````Ançois plutôt, ô déesse, ````Tu fus certes tout l'honneur ````Des princesses de notre âge, ````Soit en force de courage, ````Ou soit en royal bonheur. By some she was styled the Tenth Muse and the Fourth Grace. Her _Nouvelles_, which obtained a wonderful celebrity in her own day, may be classed with the _Decameron_ of Boccaccio. Marguerite was dressed in crimson velvet, richly embroidered, and her head-dress was of goldsmith's work, like that of the Comtesse de Châteaubriand. If she was not so fascinating as the latter syren, she possessed infinitely more dignity, and her features had an expression which nothing but purity can impart. Many other beautiful and high-born dames and demoiselles were present, but we do not think it necessary to describe them, neither can we do more than allude to the brilliant collection of young seigneurs, all magnificently arrayed, by whom the king was attended. “So you are resolved to go to Italy, sire,” observed the Comtesse de Châteaubriand to the king, who was standing near an open window, gazing into the orange-garden. “Nothing that I can say will detain you.” “I must win back the duchy of Milan, which your brother, the Maréchal de Lautrec, has suffered Prospero Colonna and Pescara to wrest from me,” rejoined François. “Had I been there, this would not have happened. I have been idle far too long, and must conduct the war in person.” “I trust it will be a brief campaign,” sighed the countess.