That fear was with her now as she sat in the window embrasure, hell in her heart and a reflection of it in her eyes, as, fallen almost to the rank of a spectator in that comedy wherein she was accustomed to the leading part, she watched the shifting, chattering, glittering crowd. And as she watched, her line of vision was crossed to her undoing by the slender, wellknit figure of de Vanens, who, dressed from head to foot in black, detached sharply from that dazzling throng. His face was pale and saturnine, his eyes dark, very level, and singularly piercing. Thus his appearance served to underline the peculiar fascination which he exerted, the rather sinister appeal which he made to the imagination.
This young Provencal nobleman was known to dabble in magic, and there were one or two dark passages in his past life of which more than a whisper had gone abroad. Of being a student of alchemy, a “philosopher”--that is to say, a seeker after the philosopher's stone, which was to effect the transmutation of metals--he made no secret. But if you taxed him with demoniacal practices he would deny it, yet in a way that carried no conviction.
To this dangerous fellow Madame de Montespan now made appeal in her desperate need.
Their eyes met as he was sauntering past, and with a lazy smile and a languid wave of her fan she beckoned him to her side.
“They tell me, Vanens,” said she, “that your philosophy succeeds so well that you are transmuting copper into silver.”
His piercing eyes surveyed her, narrowing; a smile flickered over his thin lips.
“They tell you the truth,” he said. “I have cast a bar which has been purchased as good silver by the Mint.”
Her interest quickened. “By the Mint!” she echoed, amazed. “But, then, my friend--” She was breathless with excitement. “It is a miracle.”
“No less,” he admitted. “But there is the greater miracle to come--the transmutation of base metal into gold.”
“Let me but conquer the secret of solidifying mercury, and the rest is naught. I shall conquer it, and soon.”
He spoke with easy confidence, a man stating something that he knew beyond the possibility of doubt. The Marquise became thoughtful. She sighed.
“You are the master of deep secrets, Vanens. Have you none that will soften flinty hearts, make them responsive?”