The King, having never spoken to me again of this ornament, I persuaded myself that he had made me a present of it,—­a circumstance which confirmed me in the delusions of my hope.  I thought then that I ought not to leave in its light case an article of such immense value, and ordered a strong and solid casket in which to enshrine my treasure.

The imperial crown having been encased and its clasps well adjusted by as many little locks of steel, I shut the illustrious valuable in a cupboard in which I had a quantity of jewelry and precious stones.  This beautiful crown was the constant object of my thoughts, my affections and my preference; but I only looked at it myself at long intervals, every six months, very briefly, for fear of exciting the cupidity of servants, and exposing the glory of Agrippina to some danger.

When the Princess of Mantua passed through France on her way to marry the Duke of York, whose first wife had left him a widower, the King gave a brilliant reception to this young and lovely creature, daughter of a niece of Cardinal Mazarin.

The conversation was uniformly most agreeable, for she spoke French with fluency, and employed it with wit.  There was talk of open-work crowns and shut crowns.  The Marquis de Dangeau, something of a savant and antiquary, happened to remark that, under Nero, that magnificent prince, the imperial crown had first been wrought in the form of an arch, such as is seen now.

The King said then:  “I was ignorant of that fact; but the crown of the Empress, his mother, was not closed at all.  The one which belongs to me is authentic; Madame la Marquise will show it to us:” 

A gracious invitation in dumb show completed this species of summons, and I was obliged to execute it.  I returned to the King in the space of a few minutes, bringing back in its new case the fugitive present, which a monarch asked back again so politely and with such a good grace.

The crown of Agrippina, being placed publicly on a small round table, excited general attention and admiration.  The Italian Princess, Madame de Maintenon, the Duc de Saint Aignan, and Dangeau himself went into raptures over the rare perfection of these marvellously assorted brilliants.  The King, drawing near, in his turn examined the masterpiece with pleasure.  Suddenly, looking me in the face, he cried: 

“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.