“But, madame, this is no longer my crown of Agrippina; all the diamonds have been changed!”

Imagine my trouble, and, I must say, my confusion!  Approaching the wretched object, and casting my eyes over it with particular attention, I was not slow in verifying the King’s assertion.  The setting of this fine work had remained virtually the same; but some bold hand had removed the antique diamonds and substituted—­false!

I was pale and trembling, and on the verge of swooning.  The ladies were sorry for me.  The King did me the honour of declaring aloud that I had assuredly been duped, and I was constrained to explain this removal of the crown into a more solid and better case for its preservation.

At this naive explanation the King fell to laughing, and said to the young Princess:  “Madame, you will relate, if you please, this episode to the Court of London, and you will tell the King, from me, that nothing is so difficult to preserve now as our crowns; guards and locks are no more of use.”

Then, addressing me, his Majesty said, playfully: 

“You should have entrusted it to me sooner; I should have saved it.  It is said that I understand that well.”

My amour-propre, my actual honour, forbade me to put a veil over this domestic indignity.  I assembled all my household, without excepting my intendant himself.  I was aggrieved at the affront which I had met with at the King’s, and I read grief and consternation on all faces.  After some minutes’ silence, my intendant proposed the immediate intervention of authority, and made me understand with ease that only the casket-maker could be the culprit.

This man’s house was visited; he had left Paris nearly two years before.  Further information told us that, before disposing of his property, he had imprudently indulged in a certain ostentation of fortune, and had embarked for the new settlements of Pondicherry.

M. Colbert, who is still living, charged our governor to discover the culprit for him; and he was sent back to us with his hands and feet bound.

Put to the question, he denied at first, then confessed his crime.  One of my chamber—­maids, to whom he had made feigned love, introduced him into my house while I was away, and by the aid of this imprudent woman he had penetrated into my closets.  The crown of Agrippina, which it had been necessary to show him because of the measures, had become almost as dear to him as to myself; and his ambition of another kind inspired him with his criminal and fatal temerity.

He did no good by petitioning me, and having me solicited after the sentence; I let him hang, as he richly deserved.

The King said on this occasion:  “This casketmaker has, at least, left us the setting, but M. Cromwell took all.”