trump card to play. After a sufficient
interval, and after duly preparing her dupe for
the intelligence, she tells him that the queen
has deigned to peruse one of her memorials, has
bestowed her bounty upon her, has promised to
interest herself to procure the restitution of the
St. Remi estates, has received her privately at
Versailles and Little Trianon, and, having heard
from herself of the cardinal's goodness towards
her, has spoken to her respecting him, though in
terms of suppressed indignation. Through the
countess's pretended mediation, the cardinal's
complete forgiveness is procured, and he is
entrapped into a supposed correspondence with
his sovereign; A lazy ne'er-do-well companion
of the count, and, like him, late of the gendarmerie,
who is hanging about Versailles to see
what Providence in its goodness will be pleased
to send him—a somewhat skilful fellow with
his pen—is employed by Madame de la Motte
to write "billets-doux" to the cardinal in
the queen's name. His "cabinet du travail"
was the countess's bedchamber, and he worked
by a little table at the bedside, on which was a
writing-desk with a stock of note-paper, bordered
with blue vignettes such as Marie Antoinette
was known to be in the habit of using. Retaux
de Villette—for that was our ex-gendarme's
name—after a time, resided regularly under the
De la Motte roof; for Jeanne de St. Remi,
Countess de la Motte de Valois, having now
considerable traffic in forgery, found it necessary
to keep a forger on the premises, much as other
people find it necessary to keep a secretary or
a clerk.

All the while the countess and Villette are
concocting letters that inflame and cool the
passion of the grand almoner by turns, an
idea is germinating in this woman's brain
which she is only waiting an opportunity to
convert into an accomplished fact. The crown
jewellers have a gorgeous Diamond Necklace
ordered by Louis the Fifteenth for the
notorious Countess Dubarry, but which the
unexpected death of the "well-beloved" has left on
their hands. Marie Antoinette will not accept
it, though it has been twice offered to her by the
king; and, though it has been exhibited at every
court in Europe, and has become an object of
envy among queens and women, a purchaser for
it cannot be found. Madame de la Motte has
heard all about it, has seen it flash forth its
myriad rainbow-coloured rays in the atelier
of the crown jewellers at the sign of the
Grand Balcon in the Rue Vendôme, has
heard its value estimated at one million eight
hundred thousand francs, and has set her mind
on becoming possessor of it.

Daring and rapid as the countess was
through life, she bides her time, sends out
fresh begging letters and petitions to every
one she fancies she can move by her appeals, in
the hope of replenishing her empty exchequer.
She meets with a certain amount of
success. In an autograph letter of hers now
before us, and which has never been made
public, we find her "having the honour of,
assuring Monsieur the Baron de Breteuil, minister
of the king's household, that she had
yesterday only a single franc left, and may
consequently well hope to improve her fortune. It
is not my intention," she continues, "to offer a
menace to any one in declaring that I shall end
by throwing myself at the feet of the king, and
acquainting him with all my misfortunes....
God has not yet determined my fate; and if
Providence does not show pity on me, people
will have to reproach themselves at seeing me
come to a most miserable end. I am not
ashamed to tell you, sir, that I am going out
into the world to beg ....People may do
as they please with me; nevertheless, I say it is
frightful to abandon a relation of a king, whom
he has himself recognised, and who is in a most
lamentable position.... I am no longer
surprised that so many people are driven into
crime; and I can say, moreover, that it is
religion alone which keeps me from doing
wrong."  The best commentary on the fore-
going, is the fact that at the time it was written
the Countess de la Motte kept a pair-horse
carriage.

While these begging letters are being penned,
"billets-doux," each more impassioned than the
last, are passing between the cardinal and a
phantom queen. At length the grand almoner
pleads hard for an interview, at which,
prostrated at his sovereign's feet, he may pour out
his gratitude and love; eventually this is
promised him; but it must be a secret interview, at
midnight, in the bosky recesses of the gardens
of Versailles. Count de la Motte picks up a
Palais Royal courtesan bearing a striking
resemblance to Marie Antoinette, and, with his
deliberate way of doing things, occupies a
whole fortnight in bringing about the introduction
of this woman to his wife. Far different
is it with the countess; she arranges everything
at a single interview, then carefully instructs
her protégée in the part she is to play, tricks her
out in an appropriate disguise, conducts her
to the place of rendezvous, and retires a few
paces off to watch the scene. The cardinal
approaches, kneels at the feet of the counterfeit
queen, excuses his past faults, promises future
amendment, and gives passionate expression to
his present gratitude and his undying love.
He receives from the object of his adoration a
few words of encouragement an the present
of a rose; when Madame de la Motte, fearful, if
the conversation be prolonged, that the trick
will be discovered, rushes forward and
announces that the queen's sisters-in-law, the
Countesses of Provence and Artois, are approaching,
and so brings the interview to a sudden
close.

For the next few days the cardinal is in the
seventh heaven. Madame de la Motte perceives
it, and determines to profit by it, and forthwith
causes a letter to be written to him in the queen's
name, asking for a temporary loan of fifty thousand
francs for charitable purposes. The fifty
thousand francs are instantly sent to Madame de
la Motte, and with these she and her husband