“‘True; but, sir,’ replied I, ’you should reflect that if you were a Queen of France, France, in making you mistress of her destinies, and placing you at the head of her nation, would in return look for respect from you to her customs and manners.  I am born an Italian, but I renounced all national peculiarities of thinking and acting the moment I set my foot on French ground.’

“‘And so did I,’ said Marie Antoinette.

“‘I know you did, Madame,’ I answered; but I am replying to your preceptor; and I only wish he saw things in the same light I do.  When we are at Rome, we should do as Rome does.  You have never had a regicide Bertrand de Gurdon, a Ravillac or a Damiens in Germany; but they have been common in France, and the Sovereigns of France cannot be too circumspect in their maintenance of ancient etiquette to command the dignified respect of a frivolous and versatile people.’

“The Queen, though she did not strictly adhere to my counsels or the Abbe’s advice, had too much good sense to allow herself to be prejudiced against me by her preceptor; but the Abbe never entered on the propriety or impropriety of the Queen’s conduct before me, and from the moment I have mentioned studiously avoided, in my presence, anything which could lead to discussion on the change of dress and amusements introduced by Her Majesty.

“Although I disapproved of Her Majesty’s deviations from established forms in this, or, indeed, any respect, yet I never, before or after, expressed my opinion before a third person.

“Never should I have been so firmly and so long attached to Marie Antoinette, had I not known that her native thorough goodness of heart had been warped and misguided, though acting at the same time with the best intentions, by a false notion of her real innocence being a sufficient shield against the public censure of such innovations upon national prejudices, as she thought prayer to introduce,—­the fatal error of conscious rectitude, encouraged in its regardlessness of appearances by those very persons who well knew that it is only by appearances a nation can judge of its rulers.

“I remember a ludicrous circumstance arising from the Queen’s innocent curiosity, in which, if there were anything to blame, I myself am to be censured for lending myself to it so heartily to satisfy Her Majesty.

“When the Chevalier d’Eon was allowed to return to France, Her Majesty expressed a particular inclination to see this extraordinary character.  From prudential as well as political motives, she was at first easily persuaded to repress her desire.  However, by a most ludicrous occurrence, it was revived, and nothing would do but she must have a sight of the being who had for some time been the talk of every society, and at the period to which I allude was become the mirth of all Paris.

“The Chevalier being one day in a very large party of both sexes, in which, though his appearance had more of the old soldier in it than of the character he was compelled ‘malgre lui’,