We have no wish to dilate on this delicate problem of bodily emancipation; but it so constantly comes before us, and it is especially of such vast importance in regard to the further development of the ideas current in society, that it is hardly possible to avoid doing so. The preachers, who at one time had ardently urged the severing of family ties as inexorably demanded by religion, are now seen proclaiming from their pulpits, with the same appeal to religion, a totally different doctrine, and inculcating mortification of the flesh of quite a novel kind. We know the story of an excellent pharmacist of Pau “who never had anything to do with his wife except in Holy Week,[45] by way of penance.” Even in remote country places it became the vogue to occupy separate rooms. There was no attempt at disguising the fact, and a good deal of joking on this casuistical refinement went on in polite circles. It was one of the points on which Henri d’Albret was not backward in rallying his wife Margaret. She flung back the half-laughing, half-angry retort: “Henri, perhaps the lady whom you think so much to be pitied might find some solace if she pleased. But let us dismiss the pastimes in which only two can share, and speak of what should be common to all.” Then Henri, taking as was proper a higher tone above these trivialities, addresses humanity at large: “Since my wife has caught so well the drift of my remark, and takes no pleasure in a pastime for the individual.... I give in.”[46] We have often read the eulogies on Margaret of France, sister of Francis I., and the compliments paid to her conjugal virtue. There is no reason to gainsay them, but it is well to note of what stuff her virtue was made. Henri II. could write: “Without me, she would never have returned with her husband.” And, in truth, she made no secret of it. One day when someone was relating a scandalous freak on the part of a faithless husband, Henri d’Albret said to her with affected tenderness: “I assure you that I shall never undertake so great or so difficult an enterprise. I shall not have spent my day badly if I succeed in making you happy.” And Margaret made the somewhat dry and aesthetic reply: “If mutual love does not satisfy the heart, all else will fail to do so.” Towards the end of a certain December the Princess happened to be a little out of sorts; whereupon she wrote boldly to her brother: “I got this on St. Firmin’s day (September 25), as likely as not.” This recalls a certain bet that M. de la Rochepot made with Queen Eleanor, wife of Francis I. La Rochepot maintained that the queen was drawing the long bow—that she was not really so free with her favours as she gave people to understand. However, he forbore like a gallant gentleman to insist, and surrendered to the contrary testimony of men who had the best reasons for knowing.