He renounced the hand of the beautiful Margaret, and came daily to play at dice with the King at his bedside with one or two other companions.
And every day the Duchess of Angouleme, sister of the Constable, brought her fair niece to visit and converse with the royal invalid.

But for the dark and tragic clouds which were gradually closing around that eventful and heroic existence there would be something almost comic in the spectacle of the sufferer making the palace and all France ring with the howlings of his grotesque passion for a child of fifteen as he lay helpless and crippled with the gout.
One day as the Duchess of Angouleme led her niece away from their morning visit to the King, Margaret as she passed by Bassompierre shrugged her shoulders with a scornful glance.

Stung by this expression of contempt, the lover who had renounced her sprang from the dice table, buried his face in his hat, pretending that his nose was bleeding, and rushed frantically from the palace.
Two days long he spent in solitude, unable to eat, drink, or sleep, abandoned to despair and bewailing his wretched fate, and it was long before he could recover sufficient equanimity to face his lost Margaret and resume his place at the King's dicing table.

When he made his appearance, he was according to his own account so pale, changed, and emaciated that his friends could not recognise him.
The marriage with Conde, first prince of the blood, took place early in the spring.

The bride received magnificent presents, and the husband a pension of 100,000 livres a year.