The Mesmerist's Victim

“Some friend of yours who does me the honor to call?”

“Just as you say, a friend of mine.”

“The Right Honorable the Countess Dubarry!” announced a valet at the study door, as the lady, who had not believed she wanted the permission to enter, rushed in. It was the lovely countess, whose perfumed and hooped skirts rustled in the doorway.

“Your ladyship!” exclaimed Sartines, hugging the casket to his bosom in his terror.

“How do you do, Sartines?” she said, with her gay smile.

“And how are you, count?” she added to Fenix, holding out her hand.

He bowed familiarly over it and pressed his lips where the King had so often laid his. In this movement he had time to speak four words to her which the Chief of Police did not hear.

“Oh, here is my casket,” she said.

“Your casket,” stammered the Lieutenant of Police.

“Mine, of course. Oh, you have opened it – do not be nice about what does not belong to you! How delightful this is. This box was stolen from me, and I had the idea of going to Sartines to get it back. You found it, did you, oh, thank you.”

“With all respect to your ladyship,” said Sartines, “I am afraid you are letting yourself be imposed upon.”

“Impose? do you use such a word to me, my lord?” cried Balsamo. “This casket was confided to me by her ladyship a few days ago with all its contents.”

“I know what I know,” persisted the magistrate.

“And I know nothing,” whispered La Dubarry to the mesmerist. “But you have claimed the promise I made you to do anything you asked at the first request.”

“But this box may contain the matter of a dozen conspiracies,” said Sartines.

“My lord, you know that that is not a word to bring you good luck. Do not say it again. The lady asks for her box – are you going to give it to her or not?”

“But at least know, my lady – ”

“I do not want to know more than I do know,” said the lady: “Restore me my casket – for I have not put myself out for nothing, I would have you to understand!”

“As you please, my lady,” said Sartines humbly and he handed the countess the box, into which Balsamo replaced the papers strewn over the desk.

“Count,” said the lady with her most winning smile, “will you kindly carry my box and escort me to my carriage as I do not like to go back alone through those ugly faces. Thank you, Sartines.”

“My lady,” said Balsamo, “you might tell the count who bears me much ill will from my insisting on having the box, that you would be grieved if anything unpleasant befel me through the act of the police and how badly you would feel.”

She smiled on the speaker.

“You hear what my Lord says, Sartines,” she said; “it is the pure truth: the count is an excellent friend of mine and I should mortally hate you if you were to vex him in any way. Adieu, Sartines.”

He saw them march forth without showing the rage Balsamo expected.

“Well, they have taken the casket but I have the woman,” he chuckled.

To make up for his defeat he began to ring his bell as though to break it.

“How is the lady getting on whom you took into the next room?”

“Very well indeed, my lord: for she got up and went out.”

“Got up? why, she could not stand.”

“That is so, my lord,” said the usher: “but five minutes or so after the Count of Fenix arrived, she awoke from her swoon, from which no scent would arouse her, and walked out. We had no orders to detain her.”

“The villain is a magician,” thought the magistrate. “I have the royal police and he Satan’s.”

That evening he was bled and put to bed: the shock was too great for him to bear, and the doctor said that if he had not been called in he would have died of apoplexy.

In the meantime the count had conducted the lady to her coach. She asked him to step in, and a groom led the Arab horse.

“Lady,” he said, “you have amply paid the slight service I did you. Do not believe what Sartines said about plots and conspiracies. This casket contains my chemical recipes written in the language of Alchemy which his ignorant clerks interpreted according to their lights. Our craft is not yet enfranchised from prejudices and only the young and bright like your ladyship are favorable to it.”

“What would have happened if I had not come to your help?”

“I should have been sent into some prison, but I can melt stone with my breath so that your Bastile would not long have retained me. I should have regretted the loss of the formula for the chemical secrets by which I hope to preserve your marvelous beauty and splendid youthfulness.”

“You set me at ease and you delight me, count. Do you promise me a philter to keep me young?”

“Yes: but ask me for it in another twenty years. You cannot now want to be a child forever!”

“Really, you are a capital fellow! But I would rather have that draft in ten, nay five years – one never knows what may happen.”

“When you like.”

“Oh, a last question. They say that the King is smitten with the Taverney girl. You must tell me; do not spare me if it is true; treat me as a friend and tell me the truth.”

“Andrea Taverney will never be the mistress of the King. I warrant it, as I do not so will it.”

“Oh!” cried Lady Dubarry.

“You doubt? never doubt science.”

“Still, as you have the means, if you would block the King’s fancies – ”

“I can create sympathies and so I can antipathies. Be at ease, countess, I am on the watch.”

He spoke at random as he was all impatience to get away and rejoin Lorenza.

“Surely, count,” said the lady, “you are not only my prophet of good but my guardian angel. Mind, I will defend you if you help me. Alliance!”

“It is sealed,” he said, kissing her hand.

He alighted and whistling for his horse, mounted and gallopped away.