The evening that d’Eon arrived, crossing the bridge over the rushing Armençon, Tonnerre was illuminated, all the inhabitants rejoicing, as though for the return of a prodigal son, or rather of a prodigal daughter. “More than twelve hundred persons,” writes d’Eon (probably not without exaggeration), “came to meet me, with cannon, guns, and pistols. My mother, although informed so long ago of my positive return to France, could not believe it, and fainted away in my arms, while my nurse burst into tears. The next day the whole town came in a body to my house before I was out of bed. There I was, encamped in a room without any curtains, mirrors, hangings, or chairs. Such a reminder of my former campaigns pleases me more than a palace.” The jovial humour displayed by the Chevalier does not appear to have made him forget the distressful tone it is wise to adopt towards a correspondent from whom a favour is expected, and he goes on in his exaggerated way, writing to Vergennes: “I found my patrimonial estate, consisting chiefly of vineyards, in a sadly dilapidated state. One would think that a company of hussars had taken possession of it as well as my house, and the river Armençon has flooded my gardens. But if anything can make my life worth living,” he says in conclusion, “it is my enjoyment of the pure friendships which my countrymen, both of the town and of the neighbouring villages, from the greatest to the humblest, have so kindly shown; they have of their own accord paid me the honours which would be due only to you and to Mgr. the Comte de Maurepas if you were to pass through Tonnerre on your way to your country house, and he to his estate of Saint Florentin.” In spite of the great pleasure he undoubtedly felt at being in the midst of his family and of his countrymen, wonder-struck at his adventures and escapades, d’Eon was not the man to content himself long with provincial celebrity. Experience had probably taught him that nobody is a prophet in his own country, and that the comedy which he was about to act required a larger and more magnificent stage, as well as a more intelligent audience. The Minister for Foreign Affairs was growing impatient at his delay in executing the King’s orders, and Mademoiselle Bertin averred that his presence was necessary for the last trying-on of his costume.