An angry look at the perpetrator of this practical joke was soon transformed into a smile, for the delight of recovering the watch made him ample compensation for the anxiety of mind he had suffered.
A hoax similar in some degree was practised in France on the Baron de Bezenval.
This well-known nobleman was in 1788 on a visit at the house of M. de Bercheni, beyond La Ferté-sous-Jouare, an estate now belonging to the family of Castellane. It was the latter end of Autumn. Some bold poachers already disturbed the sport. The wind blew violently, and strewed the ground with leaves; the mornings were misty, the nights long, gloomy, and cold; but gloom never approached the place that the Baron inhabited. The après-dîner had been excessively merry, and all the company had gradually retired. M. de Bezenval had announced his departure, and being almost the only guest in the room, took leave of the mistress of the house.
"I hope to see you again soon," said he.
"I hope so too," replied the lady with courtesy.
He took his departure, and soon fell asleep in his post-chaise, wrapped up in thick fur. He was suddenly roused from his slumbers by a violent shaking. The postilion had been knocked off his horse, a number of armed men surrounded the vehicle, and their leader, whose face was blackened, seizing the Baron, presented a pistol to his breast.
"Sir," said the Baron, "your men do not know how to behave themselves—they should at least have given me time to draw my hunting-knife."
Without favouring him with a reply, they stripped him—his cane, rings, snuff-boxes of lapis-lazuli, and his two watches and chains decked with gems were wrested from him.
"Are you content?" cried Bezenval.
"No," replied they, "the chaise is ours, as all the rest; get out of it."