But justice would not wait for Hymen; and while the fortunate young ladies were still undecided as to which of them should reign as Queen of France, the trial came on at Rheims. Crowds flocked to the town, prepared to give their prince an ovation on his acquittal; but the law was very stern and uncompromising. The conviction of Hervagault was affirmed; and, moreover, the acquittal of Madame Seignes was quashed, and she was sentenced to six months' imprisonment as the accomplice of a man who had been found guilty of using names which did not belong to him, and of extorting money under false pretences.
But all the evidence which was led failed to convince his dupes, and they subscribed liberally to supply him with comforts during his confinement. The authorities at Paris had ordered him to be kept in strict seclusion; but his jailers were not proof against the splendid bribes which were offered to them, and the august captive held daily court and fared sumptuously, until the government, finding that the belief in his pretensions was spreading rapidly, ordered his removal to Soissons, and gave imperative injunctions that he should be kept in solitary confinement.
The infatuated ex-bishop in the meantime was wandering about the country, endeavouring by every possible means to procure his release; and when he heard that the pseudo-prince was to be transferred from one prison to another, spent night after night wandering on the high road, or sitting at the foot of some village cross, hoping to intercept the prisoner on his way, and perhaps rescue him from the gens d'armes who had him in custody. Of course, he did not succeed in his quixotic undertaking; and when he subsequently demanded admission to see the prince in Soissons jail, he was himself arrested and detained until the government had decided whether to treat him as a conspirator or a lunatic.
At Soissons, as at Vitry, Châlons, and Rheims, crowds flocked to pay homage to the pretender, until at last Bonaparte, disgusted with the attention which was given to this impudent impostor, caused him to be removed to the Bicêtre, then a prison for vagabonds and suspects. The place was thronged with the offscourings of Paris, and Hervagault found himself in congenial quarters. Certain enjoyments were permitted to those of the inmates who could afford to pay for them; and, as the so-called prince had plenty of money, and spent it liberally, his claims were as unhesitatingly recognised by his fellow-prisoners as they had been by the royalists of the provinces. Gradually his partizans found means to approach his person, and to procure for him extraordinary indulgences, which were at first denied to him; but when intelligence of this new demonstration in his favour reached the ears of the First Consul, he at once gave orders that he should be placed in solitary confinement, and that the ex-bishop of Viviers, who was at large under the surveillance of the police, should be arrested and shut up in Charenton as hopelessly mad. His instructions were fully carried out, and the unfortunate bishop shortly afterwards ended his days in the madhouse.
The last commands of Bonaparte had been so precise that no one dared to disobey them, and the sham dauphin for a time disappeared from public view. When the period of his imprisonment was at an end, he was turned out of the Bicêtre, with an order forbidding him to remain more than one day in Paris—a miserable vagabond dressed in the prison garb! During his incarceration he had gained the friendship of a Jew named Emanuel, who had given him a letter to his wife, in which he entreated her to treat his comrade hospitably for the solitary night which he was permitted to spend in the capital. When Hervagault arrived at the Rue des Ecrivains, where the Jewess lodged, she was not at home; but a pastry-cook and his wife, who had a shop close by, invited the dejected caller to rest in their parlour until his friend returned. The couple were simple; Hervagault's plausibility was as great as ever, and, little by little, he told the story of his persecution, and passed himself off as a distressed royalist. The sympathies of the honest pastry-cook were stirred, and he not only invited the rogue to make his house his home, but clothed him, filled his purse, and took him to various places of public entertainment.
In return for this generous treatment, Hervagault in confidence informed his new protector that he was none other than the prisoner of the Temple; and that, when his throne was set up, the kindness he had received would be remembered and recompensed a thousandfold. One favour he did ask—money sufficient to carry him to Normandy. The needful francs were forthcoming, and the deluded pastry-cook bade his future sovereign a respectful adieu at the door of the diligence, never again to behold him, or his money, or his reward.
Hervagault's next appearance was in an entirely new character. He entered on board a man-of-war at Brest, under the name of Louis-Charles, and distinguished himself both for good conduct and courage. But he could not remain content with the praises which he acquired by his bravery, and once more confided the wonderful story of his birth and misfortunes to his shipmates, many of whom listened and believed. But the monotony of life at sea was too great for his sensitive nerves, and he deserted, and again took to a wandering life, trying his fortunes, on this occasion, among the royalists of Lower Brittany. Intelligence of his whereabouts soon reached the government, and he was arrested and again conveyed to the Bicêtre, with the intimation that his captivity would only terminate with his life.
By this time it was well known in France that Bonaparte's word, once passed, would not be broken; and Hervagault, losing all hope, abandoned himself to drunkenness and the wildest excesses. His constitution gave way, and in a very short time he lay at the gates of death. A priest was summoned to administer the last consolations of religion to the dying pretender, and urged him to think on God and confess the truth. He gazed steadily into the eyes of the confessor, and said—"I shall not appear as a vile impostor in the eyes of the Great Judge of the universe. Before His tribunal I shall stand, revealed and acknowledged, the son of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette of Austria. A Bourbon, descendant of a line of kings, my portion will be among the blessed. There I shall meet with my august and unfortunate family, and with them I shall partake of the common eternal rest." Two days afterwards he died, as he had lived, with a lie on his lips.