During the mouth she had passed at court, Diane had not failed at once to attract universal respect and admiration. "For," says Brantôme, in his work on famous women, "she was very kind, and did nothing to offend anybody; and yet her spirit was very noble and high, and she was very obliging and discreet, and most virtuous." But her virtue, which shone forth so pure and lovely amid the general wickedness of the time, was entirely free from any touch of austerity or harshness. One day some man remarked in her hearing that a daughter of France ought to be valiant and strong, and that her shyness smacked somewhat of the cloister, whereupon she learned to ride in a very few days, and there was no cavalier who was so fearless and dashing a rider as she. After that she always went with the king to the chase; and Henri yielded more and more to her charming way of seeking, without the least pretence for any occasion, however trifling, of anticipating his wishes and making herself agreeable to him. So Diane was granted the privilege of entering her father's apartments whenever she chose, and she was always sure of a welcome. Her touching grace, her modest ways, and the odor of sweet maidenliness and innocence which one seemed to breathe when she was near, even to her smile, which was the least bit sad, combined to make her perhaps the most exquisite and ravishing figure of that whole court, which could boast of so many dazzling beauties. "Well, my darling," said Henri, "now I am ready to hear what you have to tell me. There's eleven o'clock striking. The marriage ceremony at St. Germain l'Auxerrois is not to be performed till noon, so that I have half an hour to give you, and no more. These are the pleasant moments of my life that I pass with you." "Sire, what a kind and indulgent father you are!" "Oh, no, but I love you dearly, my precious child; and I desire with all my heart to do something that will gratify you, so long as I do not thereby prove false to the grave interests of state which a king must always consider before any natural ties. And now, Diane, to prove it to you, I will first of all give you my answer to the two requests you made of me. Good Sister Monique, who loved you and watched over you at your convent of the Filles-Dieu, has been appointed at your recommendation Lady Abbess of the convent of Origny at St. Quentin." "Oh, how grateful I am, Sire!" "As for brave Antoine, your favorite servant at Vimoutiers, he will draw a handsome pension from our treasury for life. I am very sorry, Diane, that Enguerrand is no longer alive. We should have liked to show our gratitude in kingly style to the worthy squire who brought up our dear daughter Diane so happily; but you lost him last year, I think, and he has not even left an heir." "Sire, you are too generous and kind really."