The Visit.
LORENZA WAS not mistaken. A carriage, after having entered Paris by the Barriere St. Denis, and traversing the faubourg of that name throughout its entire length, had turned the angle formed by the last house and the Porte St. Denis, and was rapidly advancing along the boulevard. This carriage contained Monsieur Louis de Rohan, bishop of Strasbourg, whose impatience led him to anticipate the time fixed upon for seeking the sorcerer in his den.
The coachman, a man of mettle, and well accustomed to aid the handsome prelate in his gallant adventures amid the darkness and perils of certain mysterious streets, was by no means discouraged, when, after having passed the boulevards of St. Denis and St. Martin, still thronged with people and well lighted, he received the order to proceed along the lonely and dismal boulevard of the Bastille. The carnage stopped at the corner of the Rue St. Claude, on the boulevard itself, and, after a whispered order from its master, took up a concealed position under the trees about twenty paces off.
Then M, de Rohan, who was dressed in the ordinary costume of a civilian, glided down the street, and knocked at the door of the house, which he easily recognized by the description of it given to him by the Count de Fenix.
Fritz’s footsteps echoed in the courtyard, and the door was opened.
“Is it not here that the Count de Fenix resides?” asked the prince.
“Yes, monseigneur.”
“Is he at home?”
“Yes, monseigneur.”
“Well, say that a gentleman wishes to see him.”
“His highness the Cardinal de Rohan, is it not?” asked Fritz.
The prince stood perfectly confounded. He looked all around him, and at his dress, to see whether anything in his retinue or costume had revealed his rank; but he was alone, and in the dress of a layman.
“How do you know my name?” said he.
“My master has just told me this very instant that he expected your eminence.”
“Yes — but to-morrow, or the day after.”
“No, monseigneur — this evening.”
“Your master told you that he expected me this evening?”
“Yes, monseigneur.”
“Very well; announce me, then,” said the cardinal, putting a double louis-d’or into Fritz’s hand.
“In that case,” said Fritz, “will your eminence have the goodness to follow me?”
The cardinal made a gesture in the affirmative.
Fritz then advanced with a rapid step toward the antechamber, which was lighted by a massive bronze candelabrum, containing twelve wax tapers. The cardinal followed, surprised and thoughtful.
“My friend,” said he, stopping at the door of the salon, “there must be a mistake, I think, and in that case I do not wish to intrude on the count. It is impossible that he can expect me, for he was not aware that I intended to come tonight.”
“Monseigneur is the Prince-Cardinal de Rohan, bishop of Strasbourg, is he not?” inquired Fritz.
“Yes, my friend.”
“Well, then, it is monseigneur whom my master, the count, expects.”
And lighting successively the candles of two other candelabra in the salon. Fritz bowed and retired.
Five minutes elapsed, during which the cardinal, agitated by a strange emotion, gazed at the elegant furniture of this salon, and at the eight pictures by the first masters which hung from the walls. The door opened, and the Count de Fenix appeared on the threshold.
“Good-evening, my lord!” said he, simply.
“I am told that you expected me,” exclaimed the cardinal, without replying to this salutation—”that you expected me this evening? It is impossible!”
“I beg your pardon, my lord, but I did expect you,” replied the count. “Perhaps you doubt the truth of my words on seeing the poor reception I give you? But I have only very lately arrived in Paris, and can scarcely call myself installed here yet; your eminence must, therefore, be good enough to excuse me.”
“You expected me! But who could have told you that I was coming?”
“Yourself, my lord.”
“How so?”
“Did you not stop your carriage at the Barriere St. Denis?”
“Yes.”
“Did you not summon your footman to the carriage-door, and give him the order, ‘Rue St. Claude, in the Marais, by the Faubourg St. Denis and the boulevard’ — words which he repeated to the coachman?”
“Yes, certainly; but you must have seen and heard me.”
“I did see and hear you, my lord.”
“Then you were there.”
“No, my lord, I was not there.”
“And where were you?”
“I was here.”
“You saw me and heard me from this?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Come, come!”
“Monseigneur forgets that I am a sorcerer.”
“Ah, true, I did forget that! Bui, monsieur, what am I to call you? — The Baron Balsamo, or the Count de Fenix?”
“In my own house, my lord, I have no name; I am called the master.”
“Yes, that is the hermetical title. So then, master, you expected me?”
“I did expect you.”
“And your laboratory is heated?”
“My laboratory is always heated, my lord.”
“And you will permit me to enter it?”
“I shall have the honor of conducting your eminence there.”
“And I shall follow you, but only on one condition.”
“What is that?”
“That you promise not to place me personally in contact with the devil. I am terribly afraid of his majesty Lucifer.”
“Oh, my lord!”
“Yes, for in general you employ for such a purpose the greatest rogues unhanged — discarded soldiers of the guards, or fencing-masters without pupils, who, in order to play the part of Satan naturally, treat their dupes to sundry fillips and tweaks of the nose, after first putting out the lights.”
“My lord.” said Balsamo, smiling, “my devils never forget that they have the honor of dealing with princes, and ever bear in mind the Prince de Conde’s speech to one of them who would not keep still, viz., that if he did not conduct himself more decently, he would so rub him down with an oaken towel that he should never need washing again.”
“I am delighted to hear that you manage your imps so well. Let us proceed to the laboratory, then.”
“Will your eminence have the goodness to follow me?”
“Proceed!”