years previously— 'whom would they have found
in this place willing to lend them a crown? And
yet in half an hour they have unpacked more
silver plate than is to be found in the whole
town besides, not even excepting the chalices
and ornaments of the altar.' . . . 'Do you not
know,' remarked I, 'that Madame de la Motte
is protected by the queen?'  'I'll say nothing
as to the queen's protection,'replied La Tour;
'but, between you and me, the wife of our lord
the king is not the most prudent person in the
world; still she is not such a fool as to have
anything to do with people of their stamp, I
warrant.'"

The countess and her husband, the steward
and the four tall footmen, the led horses and
the travelling-van, and the outriders and the
elegant berline, returned to Paris at the close
of the autumn of 1784, when the De la Mottes
proceeded—after all their desperate struggles
towards this end—to enter at last into the
coveted gaieties of the rank and fashion of the
most brilliant capital in Europe. Suddenly
grown rich in the queen's name, after having
established a very general belief in her
pretended intimacy with royalty, the countess's
extravagance became consequently one of the
chief elements in her system of deceit.

Meanwhile, fresh funds have to be procured
to keep up her now expensive establishment,
for by this time every sou of the cardinal's
fifty thousand francs was spent. She therefore
causes another letter to be written to the
cardinal in the queen's name, asking for a further
loan for charitable purposes—this time of the
amount of one hundred thousand francs. The
infatuated old man again sends the sum asked
for, to the countess, who, now that her mind is
at rest as to pecuniary matters, prepares to put
her design with reference to the famous
Diamond Necklace in execution.

It is winter. The Cardinal de Rohan is moping
in his grand palace at Saverne. He has named
a walk in the episcopal pleasure-grounds, which
used to be called "The Road of Happiness,"
"The Promenade de la Rose," in honour of the
gracious gift of counterfeit royalty at the
midnight meeting in the Gardens of Versailles, and
up and down this walk he daily paces, dreaming
wild dreams of love and ambition, and
nervously awaiting the arrival of a courier from
Paris to summon him to another interview with
his sovereign. At length the wished-for
messenger arrives, the bearer of a billet-doux,
bordered with blue vignettes, which informs the
cardinal that "the wished-for moment has not
yet arrived, but I desire to hasten your return
on account of a secret negotiation which
interests me personally, and which I am unwilling
to confide to any one but yourself. The
Countess de la Motte will explain the meaning
of this enigma."  After reading this note the
cardinal longed for wings, but was obliged to
put up with ordinary post-horses, and, wrapped
up in furs, for it was a hard frost, was soon rolling
over the hundred and fifty miles of road,
slippery as glass, that intervened between
Saverne and the capital. The solution of the
enigma was not exactly what he had hoped for:
still, his vanity was gratified when he learned
that the queen had a secret desire to possess
the world-renowned Diamond Necklace, and
had selected him to arrange with the crown
jewellers the terms of purchase. To the Grand
Balcon he hies, and opens negotiations with
Bohmer and Bassenge, which end in the Necklace
being purchased in the queen's name for
the sum of one million six hundred thousand
francs, payable in four instalments of equal
amount at intervals of six months' date. A
written contract is drawn up by the cardinal
and sent to Madame de la Motte for her to
obtain the queen's signature to it. After some
little delay, it is returned approuvé, and signed
"Marie Antoinette of France." Singularly
enough, the charlatan, Count Cagliostro, who
possessed enormous influence over the cardinal,
having cheated him into the belief that he could
not only make gold, but diamonds too, and
who was regarded by the cardinal as some demi-
god, arrived in Paris just at the moment the
final arrangements were being made with the
crown jewellers. Whether or not he was
summoned thither by the cardinal himself, is
unknown, but the vicar-general of the latter
says that he was consulted prior to the negotiations
being concluded. "This Python,''
observes he, "mounted his tripod. The Egyptian
invocations were made at night in the saloon of
the Palais Cardinal, which was illuminated for
the occasion by an immense number of wax-
candles. The oracle, under the inspiration of
its familiar demon, pronounced the negotiation
to be worthy of the prince, that it would be
crowned with success, that it would raise the
goodness of the queen to its height, and bring
to light that happy day which would unfold the
rare talents of the cardinal (who was
ambitious of the post of prime minister) for the
benefit of France and of the human race."

The Necklace is delivered by the jewellers
early on the morning of the 1st of February,
1785. On the same day the cardinal receives a
letter commanding him to bring the jewel to
Versailles that very evening, and to wait at
Madame de la Motte's lodgings there, until the
queen signifies that she is prepared to receive
him. Thither the cardinal goes, disguised in a
long great-coat and slouced hat, bearer of the
casket containing the matchless gem. The
countess is on the watch for him, and hardly has
he entered her apartment when there comes a
knock at the door, and the cardinal has barely
time to conceal himself in an alcove, when a
messenger, in the queen's livery, enters, and hands
a note to Madame de la Motte. The countess
signals the man to retire, then reads the note,
and hands it to the cardinal. This note
commands the cardinal to deliver the casket to the
bearer, and to wait where he is, as the queen
does not despair of seeing him, later in the
evening.

Credulous Cardinal Prince Louis de Rohan
does as he is bid, delivers up the Necklace, and
waits—waits, but to no purpose. The countess
comforts him as best she can: "the king is