The Mesmerist's Victim

Ashamed of her breach of etiquet in speaking without the Royals putting a question, she fell back a step, blushing and wringing her hands. The King turned to admire her blushes and emotion; then he gave the wily courtier a glance teaching him how agreeable the request was by reason of its timeliness.

“Really, the young chevalier is charming and I promised to make his fortune,” struck in the Dauphiness; “How unhappy we princes are! When we have the willingness to oblige, heaven bereaves us of memory or reason. Ought I not have thought that the young gentleman might lack lucre and that the rank was a snare without the soldiers to back it?”

“Why, lady, how could your Highness have known?”

“But I did know,” interrupted the Austrian, recalling the glimpse she had at the poverty-stricken abode of the Taverneys on her passing through Touraine; “and I ought to have thought of that when I gave the rank.”

The King looked at the speaker’s noble and open countenances: then his eyes fell on Richelieu’s, also illumined by a ray of their generosity reflected.

“Duke,” he whispered, “I shall be embroiled with La Dubarry. But,” he proceeded aloud, turning to Andrea, “do you tell me that this will afford you pleasure?”

“I entreat it,” she said, clasping her hands.

“It is granted then,” said Louis. “Duke, select a good company for the young hero. I will provide the expenses if it is not fully raised and all paid for.”

This good action rejoiced all the attendants. It earned the donor a heavenly smile from Andrea, and a grateful one from the same to Richelieu.

Some visitors dropped in, among them the Cardinal Prince Rohan who paid assiduous court to the Dauphiness. But the King had attention and sugary words solely for Richelieu that evening. He took the joyous old marshal with him when he left to go home. Andrea was relieved by the Dauphiness who said:

“You will want to send this good piece of news to your parent in town. You can retire.”

Preceded by a lackey carrying a lantern, the young lady crossed the grounds to her part of the palace. Before her, from bush to bush, bounded what seemed a shadow in the foliage; it was Gilbert whose sparkling eyes watched her every movement. When Andrea was left at the doorway, the footman returned. Thereupon Gilbert went up to his room in the stable lofts, where his window overlooked the girl’s at the corner.

He saw her call a strange waiting-woman who let the curtains fall like an impenetrable veil betwixt the beloved object and the young lover’s burning gaze.

CHAPTER XIII

NICOLE IS VALUED PROPERLY

THE only guest left in the palace was Cardinal Rohan redoubting his gallantry towards the princess, who received him but cooly. As the Dauphin retired he feared it would look bad to remain, so he took leave with all the tokens of the most profound but affectionate respect.

As he was stepping into his coach, a waiting woman slipped up and all but entering the vehicle, she whispered:

“I have got it.”

She put a small packet in the prince’s hand, wrapped in tissue paper, and it made him start.

“Here’s for you, an honorable salary,” he replied, giving her a heavy purse.

Without losing time, the cardinal ordered his coachman to go on to Paris where, at the toll-bar he gave him fresh orders to drive to St. Claude Street. On the way, he had in the darkness felt the paper, and kissed it as a lover would a keepsake.

Soon after he was treading the parlor carpet of the mysterious house where La Dubarry and Duke Richelieu had been appalled by Balsamo’s power. It was he who appeared to welcome the cardinal but after some delay, for which he excused himself as he had not expected visitors so late. It was nearly eleven.

“It is so, and I ask pardon, baron,” said the other; “but you may remember that you told me that you could reveal certain secrets if you had a tress of the hair of the person – ”

“Of whom we spoke,” interrupted the magician guardedly, as he had already caught sight of the little parcel in the simple prelate’s hand. “It is very good if you have brought it.”

“Shall I be able to have it again after the experiment?”

“Unless we have to test it with fire – ”

“Never mind, then, for I can get some more. Can I have the answer to-night – I am so impatient.”

“I will try, my lord. At all events, midnight is the spirit’ hour.”

He took the packet which was a lock of hair and ran up to Lorenza’s room.

“I am going to learn the secret about this dynasty,” he said on the way. “The hidden design of the Supreme Architect.”

Before he opened the secret door he put the medium into the magnetic sleep. Hence she who hated him when in her senses greeted him with a tender embrace. With difficulty he tore himself from her arms but it was imperative – only a child or a virgin can be used to the utmost extent for clairvoyance. It was hard to tell which was more painful to the poor mesmeriser, the abuse of the Italian wife when awake or her caresses when asleep.

Putting the paper in her hand, he asked:

“Can you tell me whose hair this is?”

She laid it on her breast and on her forehead, for it was there she saw though her eyes were open.

“It comes from an illustrious head.”

“Is she going to be happy?”

“So far, no cloud hovers over her.”

“Though she is married?”

“Yes, she is married, but, like me, she is still a virgin – purer than I, for I love my husband.”

“Fatality!” muttered the wizard. “Thank you, Lorenza, I know all I wanted.”

He kissed her, put the hair carefully in his pocket, and cutting a small tress from the Italian’s head, he burnt it in a candle. The ashes, wrapped in the paper, he gave to the cardinal when with him once more. On the way down stairs he awakened Lorenza.

“The oracle says that you may hope, prince,” said Balsamo.

“It said that?” cried the ravished prince.

“Your highness may conclude so, as it said that she does not love her husband.”

“Joy!” said Rohan.

“I had to burn the lock to obtain the verdict by the essence,” explained the necromancer, “but here are the ashes which I scrupulously preserved for each grain is worth a thousand.”

“Thank you, my lord; I shall never be able to repay you.”

“Do not let us speak of that. One piece of advice, though: Do not wash the ashes down with wine as some lovers do; it is a mistaken course for it might make your love incurable and turn the object cold.”

“I shall take care not to do that,” said the prelate; “Farewell, count!”

Twenty minutes after, his carriage crossed that of Duke Richelieu, which it almost upset into one of the pits where they were excavating for a house, much building going on.