She landed at Billingsgate, one morning very early in the end of March 1663, and found no house open until she came to the Exchange inn, where she attained to the dignity of a German princess in the following manner. In this inn, she got into the company of some gentlemen who, she perceived, were full of money, and these addressing her in a rude manner, she began to weep most bitterly, exclaiming that it was extremely hard for her to be reduced to this extreme distress, who was once a princess. Here she recited the story of her extraction and education, and much about her pretended father, the lord Henry Vanwolway, a prince of the empire, and independent of every man but his Imperial Majesty. “Certainly,” said she, “any gentleman here present may conceive what a painful situation this must be to me to be thus reduced, brought up as I have been under the care of an indulgent father, and in all the luxuries of a court. But, alas! what do I say?--Indulgent father! was it not his cruelty which banished me, his only daughter, from his dominions, merely for marrying, without his knowledge, a nobleman of the court whom I loved to excess? Was it not my father who occasioned my dear lord and husband to be cut off in the bloom of his age, by falsely accusing him of a design against his person,--a deed which his virtuous soul abhorred?” Here she pretended that the poignancy of her feelings would allow her to relate no more of her unfortunate history. The whole company was touched with compassion at the melancholy tale, which she related with so much unaffected simplicity, that they had not a doubt of its truth. Compassionating her unfortunate situation, they requested her acceptance of all the money they had about them, promising to return again with more. They were as good as their promise, and she ever after went by the name of the unfortunate German Princess. The man who kept the inn, knowing that she was come from the continent, and seeing that she had great riches about her, was disposed more than ever to believe the truth of her story. Nor was Madame backward to inform him, that she had collected all that she possessed from the benevolent contributions of neighboring princes, who knew and pitied her misfortunes. “Nor durst any one of them,” continued she, “let my father know what they had done, or where I am, for he was so much more powerful than any of them, that if he understood that any one favored me, he would instantly make war upon them.”