The diamonds of uncommon size and immense worth she did not dare to dispose of in Paris, and her husband was compelled to journey to London to sell a portion of them there. On his return thence he was able to buy for his wife the house in Bar-sur-Aube, for the sum received in London was four hundred thousand francs in gold, in addition to the pearls and the diamond medallion which he brought his wife from London. And of all this luxury, this extravagance, Cardinal de Rohan had naturally no suspicion. When he visited her, where did the countess receive him? In a poorly-furnished attic-chamber of the house hired by her. In simple, modest attire, She met him there and told him with trembling voice that the rich countess who lived in the two lower stories of the house had allowed her to have this suite next to the roof gratis. But when danger approached, and Lamotte began to fear that Bohmer and Bassenge, in claiming their pay from the queen, would bring the history of the necklace to the light, the countess came to the cardinal to pay her parting respects, as she was going into the country to a friend to live in the greatest privacy. She left Paris merely to repair to Bar-sur-
Aube and live in her magnificent palace. She tarried there so long as to allow the police detectives to discover in the rich and elegant lady the intriguer Lamotte-Valois, and to effect the imprisonment of her husband and his friend, the so-called Count Cagliostro. Her other abetters had put themselves out of sight, and were not to be discovered. However, their arrest was not specially necessary, for the facts were already sufficiently strong and clear.
Some of the diamonds which Lamotte had sold in London were brought back to Paris, and had been recognized by Bohmer and Bassenge as belonging to the necklace which they had sold to the queen. The goldsmith had been discovered to whom the countess had sold the golden setting of the necklace, and Bohmer and Bassenge had recognized in the fragments which remained their own work. It is unquestionable that the Countess Lamotte-Valois, through her intrigues and cunning, had been able to gain possession of the necklace, and that she had appropriated it to her own use. The countess is therefore guilty of theft and deception. She is, moreover, guilty of forgery, for she has imitated the handwriting of the queen, and subscribed it with the royal name. But the hand is neither that of the queen, nor does the queen ever subscribe herself 'Marie Antoinette of France.' This makes Lamotte open to the charge of both forgery and contempt of majesty, for she has even dared to drag the sacred person of the Queen of France into her mesh of lies, and to make her majesty the heroine of a dishonorable love-adventure."
"My lord," cried Countess Lamotte, with a loud laugh, "you are not driven to the necessity of involving the queen in dishonorable love-adventures. The queen is in reality the heroine of so many adventures of this character, that you can have your choice of them.
A queen who visits the opera-house balls incognito, drives thither masked and in a fiacre, and who appears incognito on the terraces of Versailles with strange soldiers, exchanging jocose words with them--a queen of the type of this Austrian may not wonder to find her name identified with the heroine of a love-adventure. But we are speaking now not of a romance, but of a reality, and I am not to be accused of forgery and contempt of majesty without having the proofs brought forward. This cannot, however, be done, for I have the proofs of my innocence. The cardinal had an interview with the queen, and she gave him a receipt for the diamonds. If she wrote her signature differently from her usual manner, it is not my fault. It only shows that the queen was cunning enough to secure an alibi, so to speak, for her signature, and to leave a rear door open for herself, through which she could slip with her exalted name, in case the affair was discovered, and leave me to be her bete de souffrance. But I am by no means disposed to accept this part, for I declare here solemnly, before God and man, that I am innocent of the crime laid to my charge. I was only a too true and devoted friend, that is all! I sacrificed my own safety and peace to the welfare of my exalted friends, and I now complain of them that they have treated me unthankfully in this matter. But they must bear the blame, they alone. Let the queen show that she did not give the cardinal a rendezvous in the park of Versailles; let her further show that she did not sign the promissory note, and the letters to his eminence, and then I shall be exposed to the charge of being a deceiver and a traitor. But so long as this is not done--and it cannot be done, for God is just, and will not permit the innocent to suffer for the guilty--so long will all France, yes, all Europe, be convinced that the queen is the guilty one; that she received the jewels, and paid the cardinal for them as a coquette and light-minded woman does, with tender words, with smiles and loving looks, and, last of all, with a rendezvous!"
"You are right," said the attorney-general, as the countess ceased, and looked around her with a victorious smile--"you are quite right, God IS just, and He will not permit the innocent to suffer for the guilty. He will not let your infernal intrigue stand as truth; He will tear away the mask of innocence from your deceiver's face, and lot you stand forth in all your impudence and deception."
"My lord," cried the countess, smiling, "those are very high-sounding words, but they are no proofs."
"We will now give the proofs," answered the attorney-general, turning to one of the guards. "Let the lady enter who is waiting in the room outside."
The officer gave a sign to one of the men who stood near the door leading to the witness-room; he entered the adjoining apartment, but soon after returned alone and whispered something in the officer's ear.