It is difficult to account for these tears. In Margaret's nature ambition was scarcely so eminent a factor that she should break her heart over what, after all, was a fair match for her daughter. The Estates of Béarn had long ago pleaded that their princess should marry no stranger, but rather some great French noble who would strengthen her hands at home. So that this marriage pleased the King of France, the bride herself, and the subjects of the bride. There was nothing personally to object to in Antoine de Bourbon; he was chivalrous and gentle, though weak in disposition. In fact, there was no cause, no reason, for Margaret's grief. The string strained too tight had broken, that was all. A constitutional melancholy, sharply accented by her brother's death, grew stronger and stronger on her, day by day, blotting all the world from her in a thick haze of cloud and misery, till it ended, even as did the melancholy of Francis, in lethargy and death.
Margaret had gone to Fontainebleau, but she found little comfort there in the court of Diana, where everything reminded her of the buried past. She returned to Pau for Christmas with her husband, and thence, for her health's sake, she went to Mont de Marsan. She was getting very weak; a religious misery took hold of her. She did not share her husband's pleasure in wealth and good cheer. She lived very quietly and simply, spending much of her time in that convent of Tusson where she had learned her brother's death. But now, in any place, it was a nun's life that she led. We find her expenses for the year 1548 entered in her account book; exclusive of pensions, loans, and donations to the poor, they do but reach the sum of £220 Tournois.
