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Updated: June 6, 2025
In the fields were dotted characteristic Dauphiné houses, little elfin things with overhanging roofs like caps tied under their chins. Soon, we raced into the main street of tiny Les Echelles, whence, in the good old days, fair Princess Beatrice of Savoie went away to wed with the famed Raymond of Provence. We whisked through the village, and down the valley to St.
Prince Eugene, who had had the glory of driving us out of Italy, remained there some time, and then entered the county of Nice. Forty of the enemy's vessels arrived at Nice shortly afterwards, and landed artillery. M. de Savoie arrived there also, with six or seven thousand men. It was now no longer hidden that the siege of Toulon was determined on.
She listened to M. de Savoie, and delivered herself up to him in order to free herself from persecution. Is not this a real romance? But it happened in our own time, under the eyes and to the knowledge of everybody. When the truth became known, the Verrues were in despair, although they had only themselves to blame for what had happened.
The pride of Anne de Savoie revolted, however, against the function which was assigned to her, and she ventured respectfully to intimate her reluctance to undertake so onerous an office, alleging as her reason, that such a measure on her part must inevitably deprive her of the confidence of her royal mistress.
They praised her, but took no further notice of the matter. M. de Savoie redoubled his attentions, and, contrary to his usual custom, gave fetes, which the Comtesse de Verrue felt were for her. She did all she could not to attend them, but her mother-in-law quarrelled with her, said she wished to play the important, and that it was her vanity which gave her these ideas.
She bore bud after bud in this crystal temple, and became a very crown of blossom; and her spirit grew so elated, and her vanity so supreme, that she ceased to remember she had ever been a simple Rosa Damascena, except that she was always saying to herself, "How great I am! how great I am!" which she might have noticed that those born ladies, the Devoniensis and the Louise de Savoie, never did.
After a while she had the small-pox. M. de Savoie tended her during this illness, as though he had been a nurse; and although her face suffered a little by it, he loved her not the less. But he loved her after his own fashion. He kept her shut up from view, and at last she grew so tired of her restraint that she determined to fly.
It was a special edition of a local newspaper, Le Journal de Savoie, and it bore the date of that morning. "They are crying it in the streets," said Wethermill. "Read!" A short paragraph was printed in large black letters on the first page, and leaped to the eyes. "Late last night," it ran, "an appalling murder was committed at the Villa Rose, on the road to Lac Bourget. Mme.
M. de Savoie being in the midst of all the generals and of the flower of the army, opened, while talking, his snuff-box, and was about to take a pinch of snuff, when M. de Villeroy, who was standing near, stretched out his hand and put it into the box without saying a word.
Being refused by the elder princess, M. de Savoie, still quite young, sought the hand of her sister, Mademoiselle de Valois. He wrote her a letter which, unfortunately, was somewhat singular in style, and which, unfortunately too, fell into the hands of Mademoiselle de Montpensier.
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