"Perchance your prayers will earn your grace," proceeded the prophet, "but then you will see nothing of what comes to pass, as you will rest in the arms of the angels. Pray, lady; continue to pray!"
Overcome by this prophetic voice, which harmonized so well with the terrors in her soul, the princess dropped kneeling before the crucifix and began indeed to pray, and with fervor.
"Now, our turn, cardinal," said the count turning to the prince, and leading him into a window recess. "Speak as to your want of me."
"I want to know what you are?"
"You do know—you say that I am a magician."
"I mean that you are called Joseph Balsamo in the south; and here, Count Fenix."
"That merely proves that I change my name."
"Yes; but I would have you know that such changes on the part of such a man will set Chief of Police Sartines to thinking."
"This is petty warfare for a Rohan," said the other, smiling.
"Your eminence stoops to wrangle over words. Verba et voces, says the Latin. Is there nothing worse to fling at me?"