D’Eon did not omit to inform his former chief of his transformation. On December 5, 1775, he wrote to the Comte de Broglie: MONSIEUR LE COMTE.—It is time to undeceive you. For a captain of dragoons, and aide-de-camp in war and politics, you have had but the semblance of a man. I am only a maiden who would have perfectly well sustained my part until death, had not politics and your enemies rendered me the most unfortunate of women, as you will see by the enclosed documents.... I am respectfully, Monsieur le Comte, your most humble and most obedient servant, GENEVIÈVE-LOUISE-AUGUSTE D’EON DE BEAUMONT. D’Eon simulated his gratitude to Beaumarchais by prolonging a mystification which must have vastly amused him, and which the author of the wittiest comedies of his day countenanced with astounding ingenuousness. Beaumarchais became the object of the most feminine flattery on the part of d’Eon, who styled himself “his little _dragonne_,” and, expressing himself in the same terms as Rosina in the _Barber of Seville_, wrote to him: “You are made to be loved, and I feel that my greatest anguish would be having to hate you.” And on another occasion: “Till now, I only thought of doing justice to your merits, admiring your talents and your generosity; I no doubt already loved you! But the feeling was so novel to me, that I was far from believing that love could be begotten in the midst of distress and pain.” The manœuvre was entirely successful, and Beaumarchais allowed himself to be completely deceived by such declarations, and even appeared to be considerably flattered, although he made a show of taking them as a jest. Everybody tells me (he wrote to Vergennes) that this crazy woman is in love with me; but who the devil would ever have supposed that in order to serve the King zealously I should have to become the gallant knight of a captain of dragoons? The adventure is so ridiculous that I find it very difficult to write about it seriously.