the
game of politics to be so easily beaten. He brought the affair before
the council, seemingly utterly indifferent what might be done; the
trouble might be ended, he suggested, by his own retirement or that of
the queen-mother, whichever in their wisdom they might deem best.

The implied threat settled the matter. The king, alarmed at the idea of
having the government of France left on his weak hands, at once gave the
offending lady to understand that she had better retire for a time to
one of his provincial palaces, recommending Moulins. Mary de' Medici
heard this order with fiery indignation. She shut herself up in the
castle of Compiegne, where she then was, and declared that she would not
leave unless dragged out by main force. In the end, however, she changed
her mind, fled by night from the castle, and made her way to Brussels,
where she took refuge from her powerful foe. Richelieu's game was won.
Mary de' Medici had lost all influence with her son. She was never to
see him again.

A number of years passed before a new plot was hatched against the
cardinal. Then a conspiracy was organized which threatened not only his
power but his life. It was in 1636. The king's headquarters were then
at the castle of Demuin. The Duke of Orleans, who had been recently in
armed rebellion against the king, and had been pardoned for his treason,
determined, in common with the Count of Soissons, that their enemy, the
cardinal, should die. There were others in this plot of assassination,
two of the duke's gentlemen, Montresor and Saint Ibal, being chosen to
deal the fatal blow. They were to station themselves at the foot of the
grand stairway, meet Richelieu at his exit from the council, and strike
him dead. The duke was to give the signal for the murderous assault.

The door of the council chamber opened. The king and the cardinal came
out together and descended the stairs in company, Richelieu attending
Louis until he had reached the foot of the stairway, and gone into an
adjoining room. The cardinal turned to ascend again, without a moment's
suspicion that the two gentlemen at the stair-foot clutched hidden
daggers in their hands, ready, at a signal from the duke, who stood near
by, to plunge them in his breast.

The signal did not come. At the last moment the courage of Gaston of
Orleans failed him. Whether from something in Richelieu's earnest and
dignified aspect, or some sudden fear of serious consequences to
himself, t