“On the morrow, at two o’clock in the afternoon, we returned to the camp in the same order as on the first day, together with the troupe of M. de Longueville,[89] who made his entry alone,[90] of the Nymphs,[91] of the Knights of Felicity, that of d’Effiat and Arnaut,[92] and, the last, that of the twelve Roman emperors,[93] all of whom ran against us, and the fête was terminated by the same salvoes and another display of fireworks.” On the following day, “because all the innumerable people of Paris had not been able to witness this fête,” the various troupes passed in procession through the town, that of the challengers, resplendent in their crimson velvet and cloth-of-silver, bringing up the rear. The fête concluded with a grand tilting-match in the Place-Royale, the prize being a ring of great value given by _Madame Royale_, the future Queen of Spain, which was won by the Marquis de Rouillac, a nephew of d’Épernon. At night there was another display of fireworks, a salvo fired by two hundred cannon, a bonfire at the Hôtel de Ville, and an illumination of Paris with “lanterns made of coloured paper, in such great profusion in every window that the whole town seemed on fire.” In November the old Connétable de Montmorency took leave of the Regent and the young King and retired from Court to spend his last days in retirement on his estates of Languedoc. “We escorted him to Moret,” writes Bassompierre, “where he feasted us, and afterwards bade farewell to his chief friends, with so many tears that we thought that he would die in that place. He was a good and noble lord, who loved me as though I were his own son; I am under a great obligation to honour his memory.” * * * * * The fêtes in honour of the betrothal of the young King and his eldest sister were but a brief interlude in the sordid struggle for place and power between the ambitious and greedy princes and nobles which had begun before Henri IV was in his grave. Marie de’ Medici distributed honours and emoluments with a lavish hand, increased the pensions of the grandees and made serious inroads into the millions accumulated in the coffers of the Bastille by the prudent Sully, who in January, 1611, had resigned his post of Comptroller of the Finances, on finding that he was no longer listened to, and that he could not maintain his position “without offending the Princes.” But the appetites she strove to satisfy were insatiable, and the more she gave, the more she was expected to give.