The Queen's Necklace. Dumas Alexandre
may arrange this, if you can, with the executioner," replied Cagliostro.
M. de Favras said no more. There was a general silence and shrinking for a few minutes.
"Do you know that I tremble at last," said M. de Launay; "my predecessors have come off so badly, that I fear for myself if I now take my turn."
"Then you are more reasonable than they; you are right. Do not seek to know the future; good or bad, let it rest – it is in the hands of God."
"Oh! M. de Launay," said Madame Dubarry, "I hope you will not be less courageous than the others have been."
"I hope so, too, madame," said the governor. Then, turning to Cagliostro, "Sir," he said, "favor me, in my turn, with my horoscope, if you please."
"It is easy," replied Cagliostro; "a blow on the head with a hatchet, and all will be over."
A look of dismay was once more general. Richelieu and Taverney begged Cagliostro to say no more, but female curiosity carried the day.
"To hear you talk, count," said Madame Dubarry, "one would think the whole universe must die a violent death. Here we were, eight of us, and five are already condemned by you."
"Oh, you understand that it is all prearranged to frighten us, and we shall only laugh at it," said M. de Favras, trying to do so.
"Certainly we will laugh," said Count Haga, "be it true or false."
"Oh, I will laugh too, then," said Madame Dubarry. "I will not dishonor the assembly by my cowardice; but, alas! I am only a woman, I cannot rank among you and be worthy of a tragical end; a woman dies in her bed. My death, a sorrowful old woman abandoned by every one, will be the worst of all. Will it not, M. de Cagliostro?"
She stopped, and seemed to wait for the prophet to reassure her. Cagliostro did not speak; so, her curiosity obtaining the mastery over her fears, she went on. "Well, M. de Cagliostro, will you not answer me?"
"What do you wish me to say, madame?"
She hesitated – then, rallying her courage, "Yes," she cried, "I will run the risk. Tell me the fate of Jeanne de Vaubernier, Countess Dubarry."
"On the scaffold, madame," replied the prophet of evil.
"A jest, sir, is it not?" said she, looking at him with a supplicating air.
Cagliostro seemed not to see it. "Why do you think I jest?" said he.
"Oh, because to die on the scaffold one must have committed some crime – stolen, or committed murder, or done something dreadful; and it is not likely I shall do that. It was a jest, was it not?"
"Oh, mon Dieu, yes," said Cagliostro; "all I have said is but a jest."
The countess laughed, but scarcely in a natural manner. "Come, M. de Favras," said she, "let us order our funerals."
"Oh, that will be needless for you, madame," said Cagliostro.
"Why so, sir?"
"Because you will go to the scaffold in a car."
"Oh, how horrible! This dreadful man, marshal! for heaven's sake choose more cheerful guests next time, or I will never visit you again."
"Excuse me, madame," said Cagliostro, "but you, like all the rest, would have me speak."
"At least I hope you will grant me time to choose my confessor."
"It will be superfluous, countess."
"Why?"
"The last person who will mount the scaffold in France with a confessor will be the King of France." And Cagliostro pronounced these words in so thrilling a voice that every one was struck with horror.
All were silent.
Cagliostro raised to his lips the glass of water in which he had read these fearful prophecies, but scarcely had he touched it, when he set it down with a movement of disgust. He turned his eyes to M. de Taverney.
"Oh," cried he, in terror, "do not tell me anything; I do not wish to know!"
"Well, then, I will ask instead of him," said Richelieu.
"You, marshal, be happy; you are the only one of us all who will die in his bed."
"Coffee, gentlemen, coffee," cried the marshal, enchanted with the prediction. Every one rose.
But before passing into the drawing-room, Count Haga, approaching Cagliostro, said, —
"Tell me what to beware of."
"Of a muff, sir," replied Cagliostro.
"And I?" said Condorcet.
"Of an omelet."
"Good; I renounce eggs," and he left the room.
"And I?" said M. de Favras; "what must I fear?"
"A letter."
"And I?" said De Launay.
"The taking of the Bastile."
"Oh, you quite reassure me." And he went away laughing.
"Now for me, sir," said the countess, trembling.
"You, beautiful countess, shun the Place Louis XV."
"Alas," said the countess, "one day already I lost myself there; that day I suffered much."
She left the room, and Cagliostro was about to follow her when Richelieu stopped him.
"One moment," said he; "there remains only Taverney and I, my dear sorcerer."
"M. de Taverney begged me to say nothing, and you, marshal, have asked me nothing."
"Oh, I do not wish to hear," again cried Taverney.
"But come, to prove your power, tell us something that only Taverney and I know," said Richelieu.
"What?" asked Cagliostro, smiling.
"Tell us what makes Taverney come to Versailles, instead of living quietly in his beautiful house at Maison-Rouge, which the king bought for him three years ago."
"Nothing more simple, marshal," said Cagliostro. "Ten years ago, M. de Taverney wished to give his daughter, Mademoiselle Andrée, to the King Louis XV., but he did not succeed."
"Oh!" growled Taverney.
"Now, monsieur wishes to give his son Philippe de Taverney, to the Queen Marie Antoinette; ask him if I speak the truth."
"On my word," said Taverney, trembling, "this man is a sorcerer; devil take me if he is not!"
"Do not speak so cavalierly of the devil, my old comrade," said the marshal.
"It is frightful," murmured Taverney, and he turned to implore Cagliostro to be discreet, but he was gone.
"Come, Taverney, to the drawing-room," said the marshal; "or they will drink their coffee without us."
But when they arrived there, the room was empty; no one had courage to face again the author of these terrible predictions.
The wax lights burned in the candelabra, the fire burned on the hearth, but all for nothing.
"Ma foi, old friend, it seems we must take our coffee tête-à-tête. Why, where the devil has he gone?" Richelieu looked all around him, but Taverney had vanished like the rest. "Never mind," said the marshal, chuckling as Voltaire might have done, and rubbing his withered though still white hands; "I shall be the only one to die in my bed. Well, Count Cagliostro, at least I believe. In my bed! that was it; I shall die in my bed, and I trust not for a long time. Hola! my valet-de-chambre and my drops."
The valet entered with the bottle, and the marshal went with him into the bedroom.
CHAPTER I.
TWO UNKNOWN LADIES
The winter of 1784, that monster which devoured half France, we could not see, although he growled at the doors, while at the house of M. de Richelieu, shut in as we were in that warm and comfortable dining-room.
A little frost on the windows seems but the luxury