His affray with the Marquis de Langeac appears to have been the last occasion on which Dugazon attempted to avenge his honour. He resigned himself to the situation; and when, soon afterwards, the “singing-bird” flew away altogether and established herself in a gilded cage prepared for her by a rich financier of the name of Boudreau, received the news with fashionable complacency. From that time, husband and wife never lived together again, and, when the Revolution came, both hastened to avail themselves of the law permitting divorce. Madame Dugazon had barely remained long enough in the gilded cage to take stock of all the marvels of art and decoration which the amorous financier had provided for her benefit, when she fell in love with a foreign count, whose name the chroniclers of scandal, with a discretion very uncommon with them, forbear to mention, and left poor M. Boudreau to meditate upon the inconstancy of woman. This last affair would appear to have been a serious one, on the lady’s part, at any rate; but it was of very brief duration, as the count was suddenly recalled to his own country, and she saw him no more. Consolation, however, was not long in forthcoming. Her lover’s departure happened to synchronise with the arrival from Bordeaux of a handsome youth of eighteen, “with the most interesting face conceivable, and the most surprising, the most wonderful voice possible to imagine.” Without knowing a single note of music, he could imitate the voice of every singer of the Opera and the sound of every instrument in the orchestra, so perfectly as to deceive even the most experienced ear. By himself, it was said, he could imitate an entire opera. This prodigy, Garat by name, aroused a perfect _furore_ in fashionable, as well as in musical circles, and after Marie Antoinette had sent a coach and six to fetch him to Versailles, the enthusiasm of the ladies was raised to the highest pitch; they literally fought for him. Madame Dugazon bore away the prize, and is believed to have given the youthful singer lessons in his art as well as in love. But she could not long retain possession of “this brilliant butterfly, who had only to open his wings to alight upon the most beautiful flowers,” and, for the first time in her life, was fated to taste something of the mortification which she had so often occasioned.