Harassed by these several persecutions to which his pride had exposed him, and openly blamed in Paris and at Versailles, d’Eon found himself deserted, even by his friends. The little Burgundian town which had never ceased to follow his career with interest, while predicting a brilliant future for him, now re-echoed the general reprobation. His relatives began to doubt if he was in his right senses, and his aged mother was thinking of coming to London herself, to implore his submission to the King’s orders. But d’Eon wrote to her at the end of this eventful year, with his wonted triumphant self-assurance: I have received, my dear mother, all the woeful and piteous letters you have taken the trouble to write to me. Why weepest thou, woman of little faith? as Scripture says. What is there in common between your affairs at Tonnerre and my political affairs in London? Go on planting your cabbages in peace, weeding your garden, and eating its fruit; drink the milk of your cows and the wine of your vines, and spare me the idle chatter of Paris and Versailles, and your tears, which grieve but do not comfort me. Not that I am in need of consolation, for I am not in the least sad, and my heart plays the violin and even the double-bass, as I have already written to you, because I do my duty, and my enemies, who call themselves great men, do not perform theirs—being guided in their actions by caprice and personal interests, and not in the least by the interests of justice and the welfare of the King and country. Let them do as they please, I will do as I think proper.... I do not fear the thunderbolts of these little Jupiters, be they far or near. That is all I have to say; therefore set your mind at ease, as mine is, and if you come to see me in London I shall be delighted, and I will take as good care of you as I do of the court despatches and the accounts of the Comte de Guerchy, which he will not have except on good grounds, with colours flying, ammunition at hand, and drums beating. He shall not even have the envelopes of the letters, I swear it to you by all that is sacred, unless he brings to me an authentic order from the King, my master and his, and this is what he has not been able to effect hitherto. ... If you wish to do what is best, remain quietly in your charming retreat at the gate of Tonnerre, and do not return to Paris unless the court pays your travelling expenses in some surer way than it has mine, and remember that, whether men praise or blame you, you are none the better or the worse. _The glory of the righteous is in their conscience, and not in the praise of men._ V LAWSUITS AND A PENSION