the famous Beaumarchais. The extraordinary bargain was
struck that d'Eon, for a consideration, should yield the secret
papers, and, to avoid a duel with the son of de Guerchy, and the
consequent scandal, should pretend to be a woman, and wear the dress
of that sex. In his new capacity he might return to France and wear
the cross of the Order of St. Louis.

Beaumarchais was as thoroughly taken in as any dupe in his own
comedies. In d'Eon he 'saw a blushing spinster, a kind of Jeanne d'Arc
of the eighteenth century, pining for the weapons and uniform of the
martial sex, but yielding her secret, and forsaking her arms, in the
interest of her King. On the other side the blushless captain of
dragoons listened, with downcast eyes, to the sentimental compliments
of Beaumarchais, and suffered himself, without a smile, to be compared
to the Maid of Orleans,' says the Duc de Broglie. 'Our manners are
obviously softened,' wrote Voltaire. 'D'Eon is a Pucelle d'Orleans who
has not been burned.' To de Broglie, d'Eon described himself as 'the
most unfortunate of unfortunate females!' D'Eon returned to France,
where he found himself but a nine days' wonder. It was observed that
this _pucelle_ too obviously shaved; that in the matter of muscular
development she was a little Hercules; that she ran upstairs taking
four steps at a stride; that her hair, like that of Jeanne d'Arc, was
_coupe en rond_, of a military shortness; and that she wore the shoes
of men, with low heels, while she spoke like a grenadier! At first
d'Eon had all the social advertisement which was now his one desire,
but he became a nuisance, and, by his quarrels with Beaumarchais, a
scandal. In drawing-room plays he acted his English adventures with
the great play-writer, whose part was highly ridiculous. Now d'Eon
pretended to desire to 'take the veil' as a nun, now to join the
troops being sent to America. He was consigned to retreat in the
Castle of Dijon (1779); he had become a weariness to official mankind.
He withdrew (1781-85) to privacy at Tonnerre, and then returned to
London in the semblance of a bediamonded old dame, who, after dinner,
did not depart with the ladies. He took part in fencing matches with
great success, and in 1791 his library was sold at Christie's, with
his swords and jewels. The catalogue bears the motto, from Juvenal,

Quale decus rerum, si virginis auctio fiat,

no doubt selected by the learned little man. The snuff-box of the
Empre