‘I do not say you have,’ continued Exili; ‘it is to the effusion of my own most hidden knowledge I allude. All that this great city holds of rank, beauty, and power are my slaves. I give the succession to the thirsting profligate, or remove the bar that keeps the panting lover from his idol. These fools and butterflies come to seek me as they would a mere drug-vendor, and little think of what I may have in store for them. There is not one particle of the venom in their crystal drinks which I cannot call back to its tangible state; and when I die I shall leave the process of the tests behind me, to confound the latest poisoners. But until then, as chemical art at present stands, the traces are inscrutable. Your way is open before you.’
As Exili finished speaking, he turned on one side as if to overlook the contents of a small retort that was bubbling over a spirit-lamp at his side: but his gaze was still directed towards Sainte-Croix.
‘You would have me send this François d’Aubray to join his father?’ said Gaudin, after a minute’s pause.
‘He is coming here this evening,’ observed Lachaussée, ‘and ought to have been here before this.’
‘You have not given him any of the Aqua Tofana?’ asked Gaudin, with a look of alarm.
‘Calm yourself, mon capitaine,’ replied Exili with a sneer. ‘He will not come for poison, but a philtre; and that not for love, but against it. He does not fear the glance of an evil eye; he wishes to turn aside the magic of a fond one.’
Those high in position in Paris at this epoch, no less than the humblest and least instructed inhabitants of the city, were accustomed to place the blindest confidence in the predictions and potions of the various fortune-tellers and empirics with whom Paris swarmed, under the names of alchemists, magicians, and Bohemians. The court set the example of belief; and the common people, ever ready to imitate its follies, readily fell into the same superstition. Links in the chain of the wonderful system of espionage which ran through the entire population,—the universal corruption of all classes, especially valets, mistresses, and confessors, which Richelieu had effected,—the astrologers gleaned important information respecting the inhabitants, which they were ever ready to place at the disposal of the best paymaster. The higher orders sought them eagerly, paying them as long as they served a purpose; but, when this was over, a lettre de cachet consigned them to the Bastille, and they were generally found strangled in their cells, the murder being attributed invariably to the devil.
‘Hark!’ said Lachaussée, whose ear had been on the alert to catch the slightest sound; ‘I can hear some one approaching.’
‘It should be Monsieur d’Aubray,’ replied Exili. ‘He must not see you here, however,’ he continued, addressing Sainte-Croix. ‘Step within this cabinet, and you will doubtless find out the feelings of his family towards you.’
Gaudin caught up his hat and sword, and had scarcely concealed himself when the brother of the Marchioness of Brinvilliers entered the apartment.