‘Such a fact suffices of itself to characterise the justice and virtue of the young monarch and of his magistrates. No less honour is due to him than was due of old to Philip of Macedon, who, being besought by a courtier that his case should not be tried, very pertinently replied, that it was better the courtier should lose his suit than the King his reputation.... Tiberius declared before the Senate one day, during the first ten years that he reigned with justice, and not with tyranny: _Nec utendum imperio, ubi legibus agi posset_—and that the pardon of great criminals was more insupportable than their crimes. Salvien declares that the punishment of persons of distinction should be the more severe, inasmuch that besides being criminals, they dishonour their blood. The code of Westphalia expressly decrees that persons enjoying dignities, or who have been raised to the magistracy, should be executed on a gibbet seven feet higher than others.’[224] [Sidenote: THE FRENCH AMBASSADOR MOBBED.] The London papers testify to the public discontent at this miscarriage of justice, and when it became generally known that Chazal, the ambassador’s butler, suspected by D’Eon of having administered opium to him by direction of de Guerchy, at the Embassy dinner, had fled, leaving behind him his youthful wife to whom he had just been married, the people no longer hesitated to resort to violence. De Guerchy was mobbed whilst out driving, and owed his safety simply to the declaration that he was not indeed the French ambassador but only his secretary; the crowd nevertheless followed the coach, and would have entered the court-yard of the Embassy had not the iron gates been immediately closed. Failing to reach his Excellency, the people somewhat relieved their feelings by breaking every window they were able to reach with missiles from the street. To the storm succeeded a calm. De Guerchy, too glad to get out of the way, proceeded on leave of absence, leaving in triumph the Chevalier, who spent the summer at Byfleet[225] in Surrey, where he was a welcome guest the chief part of the two succeeding years. When de Guerchy returned to England in the autumn, he found his way to London without receiving any of the honours that were strictly paid to the French King’s ambassadors. Not a gun was fired, not a soldier was in attendance upon him, either at Dover or at Canterbury.[226] Meeting D’Eon one day, Lord Lincoln said to him: ‘How is it that the Count de Guerchy has again returned to weary us with his sad countenance?’ ‘Ma foi! my Lord, indeed I cannot say. He must be like a top; the more it is whipped the better it goes!’[227]