en he heard that
he had arrived on foot the night before, and was utterly destitute,
advised him to apply to the old Countess de Richemont, as one who was
proverbially kind to foreigners, and had formerly been one of the
attendants on the dauphin who died in the Temple. The stranger was
profuse in his thanks, muttered that the dauphin was not dead yet, and
set out for the Rue Richer, where the countess lived.

He obtained easy access to the presence of the lady, and announced
himself as the Duke of Normandy. The countess acted in orthodox
fashion, and straightway fainted, but not before she had hurriedly
exclaimed that he was the very picture of his mother Marie Antoinette.
The first joyful recognition over, and all parties being sufficiently
calm to be practical, the countess produced the numerous relics which
she possessed of the happy time when Louis XVI. reigned in Versailles.
The duke recognised them all down to the little garments which he had
worn in his babyhood. She mentioned scars which were on the body of
the youthful prince, and her visitor assured her that he had similar
marks which he could show in private. The countess was wild with
delight, ordered him to be placed in the best bed the mansion could
afford, sent for a tailor, and had him clothed as befitted his rank,
and invited her royalist friends to come and pay their homage to their
recovered king. They came in crowds, and to all and sundry, the
pretender told the story of his escape from the Tower. They were
disposed to be credulous, and the majority yielding readily to the
prevalent enthusiasm, proclaimed their belief in his truth, and
promised their assistance to restore him to his own again. A few were
dubious, and one lukewarm Bourbonist remarked, "You were an extremely
clever child, and spoke French like an angel. How is it you have so
completely forgotten it?" The duke replied that thirty-seven years of
absence was surely a sufficient explanation of his ignorance; but a
few held a different opinion and retired, and by their withdrawal
somewhat damped the general enthusiasm.

But there was a safe and certain method of arriving at the truth. The
duke was taken in haste to be confronted with the seer, Martin, who
was then living in the odour of sanctity at St. Arnould, near Dourdin.
That fanatic no sooner beheld the stranger than he hailed him as king,
and told his delighted auditory that he was the exact counterpart of
the lost prince, who had