The matter of the papers was indeed settled; they were safe in the hands of the government, and all uneasiness in regard to them was at an end; not so Beaumarchais with his _amazone intéressante_. Furious to find that his exorbitant demands upon the French government had miscarried, d’Eon thought only of wreaking his vengeance upon Beaumarchais. After exhausting himself with very “masculine abuse” upon his “austere friend” (Loménie), he suddenly, with the same art with which he had avowed himself a woman, set about convincing Beaumarchais that he was in love with him, uttering bitter reproaches for the cruelty, hardness and injustice with which he had treated an unhappy woman, who in a moment of weakness had revealed herself to him. “Why,” cried this disguised dragoon, “why did I not remember that men are good for nothing upon this earth but to deceive the credulity of women, young and old?... I still thought that I was only rendering justice to your merits, admiring your talents, your generosity; I loved you already no doubt; but this situation was still so new for me that I was very far from realizing that love could be born in the midst of trouble and sorrow.” In a note, M. de Loménie remarked that what there was specially _piquant_ in this correspondence of d’Eon and Beaumarchais is that the former, while posing as a woman, “often gives an enigmatic turn to his phrases, as though he wished to establish for the day when the fraud would be unveiled, that he had been able to dupe a man as clever as the author of the _Barbier de Séville_, and that he duped him in mocking at him to his very face, without being suspected. Beaumarchais, for his part, amused himself at the expense of that _vieille Dragonne_ in love, and confirmed himself more and more in the error as d’Eon more adroitly simulated the anger of an offended old maid.” Beaumarchais wrote to M. de Vergennes: “Everyone tells me that this crazy woman is crazy over me. She thinks that I undervalue her, and women never forgive similar offenses. I am very far from doing so; but who could ever have imagined that to serve the King well in this affair, I should have been forced to become gallant cavalier to a _capitaine de dragons_? The adventure appears to me so ridiculous that I have all the trouble in the world to regain my seriousness so as suitably to finish this memoir.”