To this seminary for priests, a favourite foundation of his, Richelieu had already given the revenues of an abbey in Poitou. He ends his testament by beseeching the Chapter to live in the closest union with his successor. “After this, Sirs, it only remains to conjure you to love my memory as that of a person who tenderly loves you and passionately desires your salvation.” Richelieu’s final farewell to the Luçon Chapter was written four years later, in less affectionate and more businesslike terms. He was about to be plunged in the political whirlpool which swallowed the rest of his life, when he resigned the see in favour of M. de Bragelogne, receiving in exchange the Abbey of Notre Dame du Wast in the diocese of Le Mans, a canonry and prebend at St. Martin of Tours, and a retiring pension of 6,000 _livres_. The town of Blois was asleep in the dark small hours of February 23, when Queen Marie de Médicis got out of her window in the Château, climbed or slid down a hundred and twenty feet of ladders--a really wonderful feat in a woman of her size and indolence--hurried through the silent streets to the bridge over the Loire, got into a coach with two or three attendants and some boxes of money and jewels, and drove off, first to Loches, then to Angoulême. When Blois, castle and town, awoke in the morning, the captive royal bird had flown. The affair had been arranged, with extraordinary cleverness and secrecy, by the Abbé Rucellai, one of those Italians in Marie’s household whose intrigues had brought about the disgrace of Richelieu. The active agent was the old Duc d’Épernon. He had been a courtier of Henry III. and Henry IV., and had not yet taken up arms in actual rebellion. It was he who stood by Marie de Médicis after the death of Henry, and faced the Parliament with a fierce declaration of her right to the Regency. She had not been grateful: the Maréchal d’Ancre took the place in her court which d’Épernon considered his due. Too proud for a lower position, he retired to his estates and governments, which were many, including the town of Metz, Saintonge, and the Angoumois. The rule of Luynes was quite as offensive to him as that of Concini had been, and the plot for the Queen’s escape was welcomed by one of the boldest, most romantic and adventurous characters of the century. When the time drew near, the Duke was at Metz. It was necessary to gain the Angoumois by a secret dash across France, beset with so many dangers that the chroniclers called that ride “le voyage d’Amadis.” His province successfully reached, the Duke sent two active young men to Blois to manage the actual escape, and himself waited for the Queen at Loches, then conveying her to a place of greater safety. She was now free to make terms with her son or to set France on fire against him.