I am not astonished to hear (she wrote) that you find it so difficult to accustom yourself to the new disguise which you are about to assume, and which inconveniences and embarrasses you, as well it may. In the estimation of your friends you will ever be a brave man and a faithful subject; they will love you equally well, and will value your friendship, no matter how you dress. I beg you will put me at the head of your most devoted friends, and likewise all the members of my family, who send many kind regards. Madame Tercier’s friendly reproaches and affectionate messages had not the desired effect, d’Eon remaining in his lair, as he said, “like a fox without a tail.” Nor did Madame d’Ons-en-Bray’s barley-sugar succeed in curing the cold which kept him so opportunely confined to his room. Embarrassed in his petticoats, he remained invisible. Meanwhile, the report of his arrival, his adventures, and his strange transformation rapidly spread beyond the somewhat restricted circle of his intimate friends and soon reached the ears of the Queen, who was immediately seized with a desire to see this modern Amazon. “She sent a footman,” relates Madame Campan, “to tell my father to bring the Chevalier to her apartments. My father thought it his duty first to inform the minister of her Majesty’s desire. The Comte de Vergennes expressed his approval of this prudent course and bade him accompany him. The minister conferred with the Queen for a few minutes, after which her Majesty left her apartment with him, and, seeing my father in the adjoining room, was good enough to express her regret for having disturbed him to no purpose. She added, with a smile, that a few words which the Comte de Vergennes had just said to her had cured her completely of her curiosity.” If, in spite of the King’s official recognition of his new sex, d’Eon was not received in private audience by the Queen, he did not hesitate to show his new garments at Versailles, and chanced on several occasions to be in the galleries of the palace when their Majesties passed through. On October 21, 1777, the Feast of St. Ursula, as he takes care devoutly to record, the Chevalier d’Eon, late captain of dragoons and minister plenipotentiary from France to London, “resumed his first robe of innocence to make his appearance at Versailles, in conformity with the injunctions of the King and his ministers.” The entry of this “political phenomenon,” or of this “amphibian,” as Voltaire most contemptuously called him, created a sensation at court. Everybody wished to see the extraordinary woman, who was plainly dressed and adorned merely with a Cross of Saint Louis, won on the battlefield as well as in embassies.