the town, one of the preachers, a magistrate, and a teacher of languages.  The syndic, in particular, was an enthusiastic partizan, and himself addressed a letter to the Duchess of Angouleme and to the principal courts of Europe.  He also took a journey to Berlin to claim from the authorities the seal which Nauendorff said had been taken from him by the Brandenburg police—­the same seal which Louis XVI., as he was passing to execution, had handed to Clery with his dying injunction to deliver it to his son.  The government very sharply ordered their subordinate back to his post, telling him that they knew nothing of Nauendorff, but that they were well aware that Clery had handed the jewel which he mentioned to Louis XVIII., who had rewarded him with the riband of St. Louis.  The syndic left Berlin in haste, and arrived at home full of chagrin.  He concealed himself from public view, and shortly afterwards sickened and died.  Nauendorff declared he had been poisoned.

The discomfited impostor, finding that he was not likely to be able to move the world from his retirement at Crossen, quietly disappeared from that humble town, and was lost to the public gaze for a considerable period.  His movements about this time were very mysterious; but it is proved with tolerable certainty that he repaired to Paris, and his visit to the French capital may have had something to do with the visions of Martin of Gallardon.  This man was an ignorant peasant, and, being a sort of clairvoyant, pretended that, as the result of a vision, he knew that the son of Louis XVI. was still alive.  He said that, in the year 1818, while he was at mass in the village church at Gallardon, an angel interrupted his devotions by whispering in his ear that the dauphin of the Temple was alive, and that he (Martin) was celestially appointed on a mission to Louis XVIII. to inform him of the fact, and to announce to him that if he ever dared to be formally crowned the roof of the cathedral would fall in and make a very speedy ending of him and his court.  The king was prevailed upon to grant an interview to this impostor, and made no secret of his message.  Therefore, when year after year passed without a formal coronation, the superstitious whispered that Louis knew better than tempt the Divine vengeance, and, although he sat upon the throne, was well aware that he had stolen another man’s birthright, and that the dauphin of the Temple was still alive.

But people were beginning to forget the existence of the watchmaker of Crossen, when one evening, in the autumn of 1831, a traveller entered one of the best frequented inns at Berne, in Switzerland.  Attached to this inn was a parlour, in which some of the most jovial of the local notables were accustomed to pass their evenings, gossiping over the occurrences of the day, and whiling away an hour or so with a quiet game at dominoes.  The stranger was a pleasant-looking man, of from forty to forty-five years of age, and