Thus Richelieu was already giving Europe a taste of his strength, and advancing, fast and fearlessly, beyond the narrow lines of the Bishop of Luçon’s courtly speech before the States-General. He was no longer “the man of the clergy,” but “the man of France.” Naturally he was losing the confidence of his empty-headed patron, who scolded the Ministers like schoolboys and was violently jealous of Richelieu’s growing influence with the Queen. “By God, sir,” he wrote to him on some small matter of discontent, “I complain of you: you treat me too ill; you treat for peace without me; you make the Queen write to me that for the love of her I am to cease my pursuit of M. de Montbazon for the money he owes me. In the name of all the devils, what do you and the Queen expect me to do? Rage gnaws me to the bones.” A Ministry that depended on such a favourite was on a slippery slope indeed. The difficulties, at home and abroad, were enormous, and the wonder is that Richelieu and his colleagues, during their few months of uncertain power, were able to do so much. Just at this time, when he was fighting the princes and parleying with Europe, the Abbé de Marolles gives a snapshot of him worth many formal portraits. The Abbé was then a young scholar at the university. His father, Claude de Marolles, a well-known soldier and courtier, once commanding the Swiss Guard, had joined the rebel princes and was attempting to negotiate between the Duc de Nevers and the commanders of the royal army. M. Mangot, the Keeper of the Seals, sent for young Michel de Marolles and inquired of him whether he had received letters from his father or had had news from any of his father’s people. He warned him to hide nothing of the truth--“parce qu’il y alloit du service du roi.” “There was M. de Luçon, in black, flung back (_renversé_) in a leathern chair, while M. le Garde des Sceaux stood up while speaking to me....” Presently, “M. de Luçon, who knew my father pretty well and esteemed him, rose up in his chair and said that in truth he did not believe that M. de Marolles had turned against the King’s service of his own free will, but that he was sorry he should have found himself engaged in so bad a cause. Then he added very low that I might retire, and that he did not advise me to remain in Paris.” Such a warning, in those days, was not to be despised, and the young scholar was sent to his home in Touraine. In spite of the political and military successes of the Ministers he was supposed to rule, the storm which overwhelmed the unlucky Concini was gathering all through that winter at the Louvre. Paris was careless and gay: after letting out her rage by sacking his house, she was content to enjoy the scurrilous songs and pamphlets, her favourite food, which rang through the streets and were sold by hundreds on the Pont Neuf.