The Duc de Guines, former ambassador of France in London, received “with much gratitude the present” which he had asked of d’Eon through the medium of the Comtesse de Broglie, his sister-in-law. As for the personal friends of the Chevalier, they never tired of the prints which he heaped on them, and praised to the full the charm of Latour’s pastel or the bold grace of Bradel’s engraving. “Your print is superb,” exclaimed Genêt, “particularly about the eyes, which are those of Bellona herself. The look is as haughty as if you were face to face with Beaumarchais. I defy him to bear it. Truth and honesty shine from it, and it is the thunderbolt which will annihilate him.” Since death had delivered him from de Guerchy, d’Eon had found in Beaumarchais a new and no less determined adversary. Their quarrel had arisen just as that to which the ambassador had fallen a victim—out of a question of money. D’Eon did not hesitate to proclaim aloud that he had been duped by Beaumarchais, and that at the time of their covenant the latter had appropriated a sum of 60,000 livres, which was to have been set apart for indemnifying Lord Ferrers. This allegation, to which d’Eon gave considerable publicity, was welcomed by the enemies of the author of _The Barber of Seville_, who, naturally enough, were many. The complacently-told story of the ridiculous romance by which he allowed himself to be carried away for a time, set court and town shaking with laughter. For once the celebrated pamphleteer was obliged to admit that the laughter was not with him, and, after having so often diverted himself at the expense of his contemporaries, he had to endure their raillery. Certain impromptu comedies which were performed at that time in fashionable circles, and some burlesques inspired by the carnival, which represented him as engaged in making love to the virile Chevalière, exasperated him beyond measure. The point was all the more telling as d’Eon amused himself by acting his own part—that of an artless maiden—with an improvised Beaumarchais. Seeing himself held up to ridicule in this manner, and accused of such incredible blindness, Beaumarchais was put out of countenance, and completely lost his temper. Not knowing how to retaliate, he complained to M. de Vergennes, the Minister for Foreign Affairs, begging him to vindicate his character from the calumnies that were being publicly circulated about him: