"MONSEIGNEUR,--Some one wishes to see you about raising an important sum of money. This person will wait on you this evening, at Paris, to solicit the honor of an interview."
"Anonymous--some beggar?"
"No, countess; no beggar would expose himself to the risk of being beaten by my servants. Besides, I fancy I have seen the writing before.
So au revoir, countess."
"Apropos, monseigneur, if you are going to get a windfall, some large sum, I understand we are to share."
"Countess, you have brought me luck; I shall not be ungrateful." And they separated.
The cardinal was full of happy dreams: the queen had received him kindly. He would place himself at the head of her party, and make it a popular one; he would protect her, and for her sake would abandon his slothful life, and live an active one.
As soon as he arrived at his hotel, he commenced burning a box full of love-letters; then he called his steward to order some economical reforms, and sat down to his history of English politics. Soon he heard a ring, and a servant entered to announce the person who had written to him that morning.
"Ask his name," said the cardinal.
The man, having inquired, returned and said:
"M. le Comte de Cagliostro."
"Let him come in."
The count entered.
"Mon Dieu!" cried the cardinal, "is it possible? Joseph Balsamo, who was supposed to have perished in the flames?"
"Yes, monseigneur, more alive than ever."
"But, sir, you have taken a new name."
"Yes, monseigneur; the other recalled too many painful recollections.
Possibly, you yourself would not have opened your door to Joseph Balsamo."
"I! oh yes, sir."
"Then monseigneur has a better memory and more honesty than most men."
"Monsieur, you once rendered me a service."
"Am I not, monseigneur, a good specimen of the results of my elixir?"
"I confess it, sir; but you seem above humanity--you, who distribute health and gold to all."
"Health perhaps, monseigneur, but not gold."
"You make no more gold."
"No, monseigneur."
"Why?"
"Because I lost the parcel of an indispensable ingredient which Althotas discovered, but of which I never had the receipt. He has carried that secret with him to the grave."
"He is dead, then? How, could you not preserve the life of this man, so useful to you, as you have kept yourself through so many centuries?"
"Because I can guard against illness, but not against such accidents as kill before I can act."
"He died from an accident, then?"
"The fire in which you thought I died killed him; or rather he, weary of life, chose to die."
"It is strange."
"No, it is natural; I have a hundred times thought of ending my life."
"But you have not done so."
"Because I enjoy a state of youth, in which health and pleasure kept me from ennui; but he had chosen one of old age. He was a savant, and cared only for science; and thus youth, with its thousand pleasures, would have constantly drawn him from its study. An old man meditates better than a young one. Althotas died a victim to his love of science: I lead a worldly life, and do nothing--I live like a planet."
"Oh, sir, your words and appearance bring to me dreams of my youth. It is ten years since I saw you."
"Yes; but if you are no longer a fine young man, you are a prince. Do you remember the day when, in my cabinet, I promised you the love of the woman whose fair locks I consulted?"
The cardinal turned from pale to red. Terror and joy almost stopped the beating of his heart.
"I remember," said he.
"Ah, let me try if I can still play the magician. This fair child of your dreams----"
"What is she doing now?"
"Ah, I suspect you yourself have seen her to-day; indeed, you have not long left her."
The cardinal could hardly stand.
"Oh, I beg, sir----" he cried.
"Let us speak of something else," said Cagliostro, sitting down.
CHAPTER LVII.
DEBTOR AND CREDITOR.
"Now that we have renewed our acquaintance, let us converse," said Cagliostro.