but that she had no longer any taste for anything but
private society, the country, the work and the attentions required by the
education of her children. From that moment until the fatal crisis there
was nothing more said about the necklace."

The crisis would naturally come from the want of money felt by the
jewellers. Madame de la Motte had paid them some instalments on account
of the stones, which her husband had sold in England: they grew impatient
and applied to the queen. For a long while she did not understand their
applications: when the complaints of the purveyors at last made her
apprehend an intrigue, she sent for Abbe de Vermond and Baron de
Breteuil, minister of the king's household both detested the cardinal,
both fanned the queen's wrath; she decided at last to tell the king
everything. "I saw the queen after the departure of the baron and the
abbe," says Madame Campan; "she made me tremble at her indignation." The
cardinal renounced the privileges of his rank and condition; he boldly
accepted the jurisdiction of the Parliament.

The trial revealed a gross intrigue, a disgraceful comedy, a prince of
the church and a merchant equally befooled by a shameless woman, with the
aid of the adventurer Cagliostro, and the name, the favors, and even the
personality of the queen impudently dragged in. The public feeling was
at its height, constantly over-excited by the rumors circulated during
the sessions of the court. Opinion was hostile to the queen. "It was
for her and by her orders that the necklace was bought," people said.
The houses of Conde and Rohan were not afraid to take sides with the
cardinal: these illustrious personages were to be seen, dressed in
mourning, waiting for the magistrates on their way, in order to canvass
them on their relative's behalf. On the 31st of May, 1786, the court
condemned Madame de la Motte to be whipped, branded, and imprisoned; they
purely and simply acquitted Cardinal Rohan. In its long and continual
tussle with the crown, the Parliament had at last found the day of its
revenge: political passions and the vagaries of public opinion had
blinded the magistrates.

"As soon as I knew the cardinal's sentence, I went to the queen," says
Madame Campan. "She heard my voice in the room leading to her closet;
she called to me. I found her very sad. She said to me in a broken
voice: 'Condole with me; the intriguer who wanted to ruin me, or procure
money by using my nam