“I?”
“You, countess. Oh! you cannot have forgotten it. Do you not remember a certain house in the Rue St. Claude, and coming there on some business respecting M. de Sartines? You remember rendering a service to one of my friends, called Joseph Balsamo, and that this Joseph Balsamo gave you a bottle of elixir, recommending you to take three drops every morning? Do you not remember having done this regularly until the last year, when the bottle became exhausted? If you do not remember all this, countess, it is more than forgetfulness—it is ingratitude.”
“Oh! M. Cagliostro, you are telling me things——”
“Which were only known to yourself, I am aware; but what would be the use of being a sorcerer if one did not know one’s neighbor’s secrets?”
“Then Joseph Balsamo has, like you, the secret of this famous elixir?”
“No, madame, but he was one of my best friends, and I gave him three or four bottles.”
“And has he any left?”
“Oh! I know nothing of that; for the last two or three years, poor Balsamo has disappeared. The last time I saw him was in America, on the banks of the Ohio: he was setting off on an expedition to the Rocky Mountains, and since then I have heard that he is dead.”
“Come, come, count,” cried the marshal; “let us have the secret, by all means.”
“Are you speaking seriously, sir?” said Count Haga.