Let it suffice that I have sacrificed a passion which had become the very principle of my existence in order to secure your peace and happiness, and do not ask me to become the witness of my own bitter disappointment." "The King, who was the best of men," pursues the chronicler, "simply replied: 'I plainly see, Bassompierre, that you are angry, but I feel sure that you will not fail when you remember that it was my nephew, the first Prince of the Blood, by whom you were invited.'" Further expostulation was impossible, and Bassompierre saw himself compelled to drain even to the very dregs his cup of mortification.

The ceremony took place in the gallery of the Louvre with almost fabulous pomp.

Mademoiselle de Montmorency was attended by all the Princesses of the Blood, and took her place immediately beside the Queen, while the Prince stood upon the right hand of the King; who, being still feeble, with a refinement of cruelty which it is equally difficult to explain and to justify, selected Bassompierre upon whom to lean, and thus kept him throughout the whole of the ceremonial in the immediate vicinity of the affianced pair.
A few days after the ceremony a ballet was danced at the Arsenal in honour of the event, at which their Majesties and all the Court were present; and on Shrove Tuesday a tilting at the ring took place, where Mademoiselle de Montmorency delivered the prize to the victor.

The Queen, who had remarked with apprehension the growing passion of her royal consort for the young Princess, was overjoyed at the contemplated marriage, believing as she did that she must have been self-deluded, as it was beyond credibility that, had she been correct in her surmises, Henry would have sought to unite the object of his preference to his own nephew.

Thus, therefore, she overwhelmed the bride-elect with the most condescending kindness, and even arranged a ballet in her honour in which she herself appeared.