untouched. The turnkey, surprised at this
proceeding, said to her rudely:

     "So, then, you don't choose to eat, don't
you?"

   "No," replied the countess, "I don't choose
to eat; and I desire to know if you serve the
Cardinal de Rohan off pewter? Inform the
governor that the Valois are quite as nice as,
and entitled to equal respect with, the Rohans."

The turnkey was astounded, looked at the
countess respectfully, she tells us, and mildly
answered that he was ignorant who she was;
then, begging her pardon, he departed, and
shortly afterwards returned with a better dinner,
served in beautiful dishes with silver
covers.

All the culprits being now secured, with the
exception of Count de la Motte, who is beyond
the grip of the French police, the examinations
and confrontations of the accused take place.
The cardinal tells pretty much the truth; so
does D'Oliva. Cagliostro maintains his
ignorance of the entire affair. Villette at first denies
everything that affects himself, and then admits
everything, except having played the part of
queen's messenger on the night of the 1st of
February, and fetched away the casket containing
the Necklace from the countess's lodgings.
Although there is no moral doubt he was the
man who did this, he could never be brought to
admit it. As for Madame de la Motte, she first
denied everything, and then admitted certain
things when the weight of evidence against her
seemed overpowering; still she contradicted the
witnesses on almost every point, and herself
continually. She shrieked out denials, stormed at
the witnesses, abused the judges, laughed, wept
and went into convulsions, by turns. She
proclaimed in open court the shameful nature of the
relations subsisting between herself and the
Cardinal de Rohan, and said it was through his
generosity, and occasional large gifts bestowed upon
her in high quarters, that she was enabled to make
that display in the Rue Neuve St. Gilles and at
Bar-sur-Aube which had excited so much
astonishment. She maintained that her husband
had sold the diamonds for the grand almoner,
and had handed over to him every halfpenny of
the proceeds. She refrained from making the
slightest allusion to her pretended intimacy with
Marie Antoinette, and gave an evasive answer
to every question put to her on that subject.
When the girl D'Oliva was questioned respecting
some letters which the countess had shown
her, saying that they had come to her from the
queen, Madame de la Motte winked as a caution
to her to preserve silence on this point. Finding
that no notice was taken of her signal, she
continued repeating it, and when charged with
what she had done, she exclaimed, in a furious
tone of voice, "I make signs to you? Yes; I
make you a sign that you are a monster for
having said such a thing." She then charged
D'Oliva with having behaved immodestly when
on a visit to her, and with having usurped a
title to which she had no claiim. This was the
countess's act. She had dubbed the courtesan
a baroness. D'Oliva was afraid to answer her;
but the counsel, speaking in his client's name,
thus subsequently apostrophised her: "Proud
and vile woman, who caressed me when I could
serve you, who disdained me when I exposed
you, who hate me when I confound you,
descend, descend, from the supreme height of your
genealogical tree, from whence you brave the
law, impose upon its administrators, and insult
by turns your unfortunate co-accused!"

As for Cagliostro, on whom and on whose
wife the countess tried her utmost to shift a
portion of her own guilt, she sneeringly
designated him as "This oracle who bewitched the
cardinal's understanding;" called him "a false
prophet, a profaner of the true religion, a low
alchemist, a mountebank, and a vagabond."
To which Cagliostro pertinently replied: "Not
always a false prophet, for had the Prince de
Rohan taken my advice he would long since
have seen through your artifices, and neither of
us have been where we are. To your
numerous calumnies I will content myself with making
a laconic reply—the same that was made by
Pascal under parallel circumstances—a reply
which politeness forbids me to make in the vulgar
tongue, but which your counsel can translate
for you, 'Mentiris impudentissime! ' "The countess,
not knowing the meaning of the phrase,
imagined correctly enough that it was something
exceedingly offensive, and to quote her own
language, "put an end to the scene by throwing
a candlestick at the quack's head."

The preliminary investigation being at an
end, the Court of Parliament—Grand Chamber
and "Tournelle"—proceed in solemn sitting
to judge the case. No stone was left unturned
by the friends and connexions and high alliances
of the Cardinal Prince Louis de Rohan to procure
his acquittal; and numerous counsellors in the
parliament spoke vehemently in his favour, and
not without effect. After a long debate this was
the judgment given. The cardinal and Cagliostro
were acquitted; D'Oliva was pronounced
"hors de cour" (out of court), and thinking
this to be a prohibition against her going to Versailles
any more, promised that she would
faithfully submit. Villette was banished from
the kingdom for life. Count de la Motte was
sentenced to be scourged and branded with a
hot iron on the right shoulder with the letters
G. A. L., and to serve the king as a galley-slave
for the remainder of his days. The countess
was sentenced to have a halter slung round her
neck, and then to be flogged and beaten naked
with rods, and branded with a hot iron on both
shoulders with the letter V. (voleuse)—it was
jocosely remarked at the time, that the V. stood
for Valois as well. This done, she was to be
confined in the prison of the Salpêtrière for the
rest of her life.

Cagliostro asserted that Villette was banished
in the ignominious sense of the term—that is,
that he was led out of prison with a rope round
his neck by the public executioner, who, on their
arrival at the city gate, gave him first of all a
loaf, and then a kick behind, and strictly
enjoined him never to return to France again.

In those days, criminals were kept in ignorance