“Your highness,” I remarked, as I returned the case, “will allow me to appeal against such a proposal, for you must have remarked that, until now, I required to see the object before my son could name it.” “Yet you have surmounted greater difficulties,” the amiable duchess retorted. “However, if it is not possible, let us say no more about it, for I should be grieved to cause you any embarrassment.” “What your highness wishes is, I repeat, impossible; and yet my son, feeling anxious to justify the confidence you place in his clairvoyance, will attempt to see through the case, and describe its contents. “Can he do so even through my hands?” the duchess continued, trying to conceal the case. “Yes, madam, and even if your highness were in the next room, my son would be able to see it.” The duchess, declining the new trial I proposed, satisfied herself by questioning my son with her own lips. The boy, who had long received his instructions, replied, without hesitation, “There is in the case a diamond pin, the stone being surrounded by a garter of sky-blue enamel.” “That is perfectly correct,” the duchess said, as she showed the ornament to the king. “Judge for yourself, sire;” then, turning to me, she added, with infinite grace, “Monsieur Robert-Houdin, will you accept this pin in remembrance of your visit to St. Cloud?” I thanked her highness sincerely, as I assured her of my gratitude. The performance was over: the curtain fell, and, in my turn, I was enabled to enjoy a curious scene at my ease; it was to look through a small hole at my audience, who had assembled in groups, and were talking about the impression I had produced. Before leaving the château, the king and queen again sent me the most flattering messages by the person charged to hand me a souvenir of their munificence. This representation could not increase my reputation--that was not possible--but it helped powerfully to maintain it. My performance at St. Cloud, more especially, created a sensation among the aristocracy, who, until that moment, had hesitated about visiting my small room. Their curiosity overcame other considerations, and they came in their turn to assure themselves of the reality of the marvels attributed to me. The summer heats were, however, beginning to be felt: we had reached the commencement of July, and I had to think about closing my theatre. However, instead of running after fortune, as in the previous year, I occupied myself with changing and improving my performance. The task was heavy; for I was filled with bold emulation, as I could not conceal from myself that my success imposed certain duties on me, and that, in order to keep it up, I must be constantly deserving of it. The most painful part of my inquiries was, that my inventions must be completed by a certain day and hour, for the reopening of my theatre was fixed for the first of the next September, and, for many reasons, I determined on being punctual.