"Speak frankly, count," said Gilbert, stopping on the threshold to gaze fixedly at the speaker, "do you here, as in America, pretend to make folk believe that you can read the future?"
"As surely, Gilbert," returned the self-asserted undying one, "as you can read the pathway of the stars, though the mass of mankind believe they are fixed or wandering at hazard."
"Well, then--someone knocks at your door."
"Tell me his fate: when he shall die and how?"
"Be it so," rejoined the sorcerer, "let us go and open the door to him."
Gilbert proceed towards the corridor end, with a beating of the heart which he could not repress, albeit he whispered to himself that it was absurd to take this quackering as serious.
The door opened. A man of lofty carriage, tall in stature, and with strong-will impressed on his lineaments, appeared on the sill and cast a swift glance on Dr. Gilbert not exempt from uneasiness.
"How do you do, baron?" responded the other.
"Marquis," went on the host as he saw the caller's gaze still settled on the doctor, "this is one of my friends, Dr. Gilbert. Gilbert, you see Marquis Favras, one of my clients. Marquis, will you kindly step into my sitting-room," continued he as the two saluted each other, "and wait for a few seconds when I shall be with you."
"Well?" queried Gilbert as the marquis bowed again and went into the parlor.
"You wished to know in what way this gentleman would die?" said Cagliostro with an odd smile; "have you ever seen a nobleman hanged?"
"Noblemen are privileged not to die by hanging."
"Then it will be the more curious sight; be on the Strand when the Marquis of Favras is executed." He conducted his visitor to the street door, and said: "When you wish to call on me without being seen and to see none but me, push this knob up and to the left, so--now, farewell--excuse me--I must not make those wait who have not long to live."
He left Gilbert astounded by his assurance, which staggered him but could not vanquish his incredulity.
In the meantime the Royal Family had continued their road to Paris. The pace was so slow and delayed that it was six o'clock before the carriage containing so much sorrow, hatred, passions and innocence, arrived at the city bars.