She squandered two hundred thousand livres in attempts to bribe his guards, but all to no purpose:  and it was not until after six months of durance that the Regent at last yielded—­moved partly by his daughter’s tears and threats and partly by the pleadings of the Cardinal-Archbishop of Paris—­and the prisoner was released, on condition that the Cardinal and the Duchesse de Richelieu would be responsible for his custody and good behaviour.

A few days later we find the irresponsible Richelieu climbing over the garden-walls of his new “prison” at Conflans, racing through the darkness to Paris behind swift horses, and making love to the Regent’s own mistresses and his daughter!

But such facilities for dalliance with the Regent’s daughter were soon to be brought to an end.  Mademoiselle de Valois, in order to ensure her lover’s freedom, had at last consented to accept the hand of the Duke of Modena, an alliance which she had long fought against; and before the Duc had been a free man again many weeks she paid this part of his ransom by going into exile, and to an odious wedded life, in a far corner of Italy—­much, it may be imagined, to the Regent’s relief, for his daughters and their love affairs were ever a thorn in his side.

It was not long, however, before the new Duchess of Modena began to sigh for her distant lover, and to bombard him with letters begging him to come to her.  “I cannot live without your love,” she wrote.  “Come to me—­only, come in disguise, so that no one can recognise you.”

This was indeed an adventure after the Lothario Duc’s heart—­an adventure with love as its reward and danger as its spur.  And thus it was that, a few weeks after the Duchess had sent her invitation, two travel-stained pedlars, with packs on their backs, entered the city of Modena to find customers for their books and phamphlets.  At the small hostelry whose hospitality they sought the hawkers gave their names as Gasparini and Romano, names which masked the identities of the knight-errant Duc and his friend, La Fosse, respectively.

The following morning behold the itinerant hawkers in the palace grounds, their wares spread out to tempt the Court ladies on their way to Mass, when the Duchess herself passed their way and deigned to stop to converse graciously with the strangers.  To her inquiries they answered that they came from Piedmont; and their curious jargon of French and Italian lent support to the story.  After inspecting their wares she asked for a certain book.  “Alas!  Madame,” Gasparini answered, “I have not a copy here, but I have one at my inn.”  And bidding him bring the volume to her at the palace, the great lady resumed her devout journey to Mass.

A few hours later Gasparini presented himself at the palace with the required volume, and was ushered into the august presence of the Duchess.  A moment later, on the closing of the door, the Royal lady was in the “hawker’s” arms, her own flung around his neck, as with tears of joy she welcomed the lover who had come to her in such strange guise and at such risk.