He would have been very glad to insinuate himself into the service of the new favorite, the king's favorite, Monsieur de Luynes, but he could not bring it about; and, although he had no more scruples than "most courtiers of his time, he felt that he could not stoop to the shuffling of the royal party, whose policy was to yield many points to the Calvinists, whenever they saw reason to hope that they could purchase the submission of the princes who made use of the Reformed religion to forward their ambition." When Queen Marie was in open disgrace, Sciarra d'Alvimar considered it to be for his interest to display his fidelity to her cause. He reflected that parties are never without resources, and that they all have their day. Moreover, the queen, even though she were to remain in exile, might still make the fortunes of her faithful adherents. Everything is relative, and D'Alvimar was so poor that the gifts of a royal personage, however nearly ruined she might be, offered an excellent chance for him. He exerted himself, therefore, to assist in planning the escape from the château of Blois, even as he had been employed, several years before, in the third or fourth rôles in the various political dramas evolved sometimes by the diplomatic manœuvres of Philip III., sometimes by those of Marie de Médicis, their aim being to bring about _the marriages_.[2] This Monsieur d'Alvimar was, generally speaking, sufficiently shrewd in the interests of others, discreet and ready for work; but he was often reproached with having a mania for giving his advice "where he should have been content to follow that of other people," and for exhibiting an ability of which he should have been content to leave the credit to his superiors, "being as yet only an unimportant personage." Thus, despite his zeal, he did not succeed in drawing upon himself the queen mothers attention, and, at the time of Marie's retirement to Angers, he was lost to sight among the subaltern officers, tolerated rather than popular. D'Alvimar was touched by these numerous rebuffs. Nothing seemed to profit him, neither his comely face nor his fine manners, nor his respectable birth, nor his learning, his penetration, his courage, his agreeable and instructive conversation: "people did not like him." He made a pleasant impression at first, but then--very quickly too--people were disgusted by a touch of bitterness which he soon displayed; or else they distrusted a flavor of ambition which he inopportunely allowed to appear. He was neither Spanish enough nor Italian enough, or, perhaps, he was too much of both: one day as talkative, persuasive and supple as a young Venetian; the next day as haughty, obstinate and gloomy as an old Castilian. All his disappointments were intensified by a certain secret remorse which he did not reveal until his last hour, and which, as the narrative proceeds, will be forcibly dragged forth from the oblivion in which he wished to bury it.