But, just at this moment, when a better day seemed to dawn, came an event which threw France back into anarchy, and Richelieu out into the world again.

The young King, Louis XIII., was now sixteen years old.  His mother the Regent and her favorite Concini had carefully kept him down.  Under their treatment he had grown morose and seemingly stupid; but he had wit enough to understand the policy of his mother and Concini, and strength enough to hate them for it.

The only human being to whom Louis showed any love was a young falconer, Albert de Luynes,—­and with De Luynes he conspired against his mother’s power and her favorite’s life.  On an April morning, 1617, the King and De Luynes sent a party of chosen men to seize Concini.  They met him at the gate of the Louvre.  As usual, he is bird-like in his utterance, snake-like in his bearing.  They order him to surrender; he chirps forth his surprise,—­and they blow out his brains.  Louis, understanding the noise, puts on his sword, appears on the balcony of the palace, is saluted with hurrahs, and becomes master of his kingdom.

Straightway measures are taken against all supposed to be attached to the Regency.  Concini’s wife, the favorite Leonora, is burned as a witch,—­Regent Mary is sent to Blois,—­Richelieu is banished to his bishopric.

And now matters went from bad to worse.  King Louis was no stronger than Regent Mary had been,—­King’s favorite Luynes was no better than Regent’s favorite Concini had been.  The nobles rebelled against the new rule, as they had rebelled against the old.  The King went through the same old extortions and humiliations.

Then came also to full development yet another vast evil.  As far back as the year after Henry’s assassination, the Protestants, in terror of their enemies, now that Henry was gone and the Spaniards seemed to grow in favor, formed themselves into a great republican league,—­a State within the State,—­regularly organised in peace for political effort, and in war for military effort,—­with a Protestant clerical caste which ruled always with pride, and often with menace.

Against such a theocratic republic war must come sooner or later, and in 1617 the struggle began.  Army was pitted against army,—­Protestant Duke of Rohan against Catholic Duke of Luynes.  Meanwhile Austria and the foreign enemies of France, Conde and the domestic enemies of France, fished in the troubled waters, and made rich gains every day.  So France plunged into sorrows ever deeper and blacker.  But in 1624, Mary de Medici, having been reconciled to her son, urged him to recall Richelieu.

The dislike which Louis bore Richelieu was strong, but the dislike he bore toward compromises had become stronger.  Into his poor brain, at last, began to gleam the truth, that a serf-mastering caste, after a compromise, only whines more steadily and snarls more loudly,—­that, at last, compromising becomes worse than fighting.  Richelieu was called and set at work.