coming with important news. All the American commissioners, together
with Beaumarchais, are at Passy waiting his arrival. His chaise is
heard in the court, and they go out to meet him. But before he even
alights Franklin cries out, "Sir, _is_ Philadelphia taken?" "Yes, sir,"
says Austin. It seemed then that all was over. Without a word Franklin
clasped his hands and turned toward the house. "But, sir," said Austin,
"I have greater news than that GENERAL BURGOYNE AND HIS WHOLE ARMY ARE
PRISONERS OF WAR!" "The news," as one of the party afterwards declared,
"was like a sovereign cordial to the dying." How deep the impression
upon Franklin was we may judge from his gratitude to the messenger. Mr.
Austin relates that often he "would break from one of those musings in
which it was his habit to indulge, and clasping his hands together,
exclaim, 'Oh, Mr. Austin, you brought us glorious news!'"

It was indeed glorious news. The result in France was instantaneous and
immense. Franklin and his companions had long wished the court to
acknowledge publicly the independence of the United States and to make
a treaty of commerce with them. The news of Burgoyne's surrender
reached Paris on the 4th of December, 1777; the desired treaty was
actually signed on the 6th of February following. Dr. Bancroft, who was
present when both parties signed the document, tells us that Franklin
on that occasion wore the old suit of Manchester velvet which he had
worn on the day of his outrage in the Privy Council, and which had been
long laid aside. It was apparently a bit of quaint and secret revenge
in which the philosopher indulged himself. But when Dr. Bancroft
intimated to Franklin his suspicions in the matter, the philosopher
only smiled, and said nothing.

Several weeks later the new treaty was to receive formal recognition,
and the American commissioners were to be presented to Louis XVI in
their public capacity. Franklin intended to wear the regular court
costume at the presentation, but was balked of his desire. The costume
did not come in time; and when the perruquier brought his wig it
refused to sit on the Doctor's head. Franklin suggested that the wig
might be too small. "Monsieur, it is impossible," cried the perruquier,
and then, dashing the wig to the floor, exclaimed, "No, Monsieur!--it
is not the wig which is too small; it is your head which is too large."
At any rate the wig could not be worn, and Franklin appeared in his own
gray