“You see,” said Cagliostro, quietly, “that I divined these dangers; well, it is the same with other things. The experience of a long life reveals to me at a glance much of the past and of the future of those whom I meet. My capabilities in this way extend even to animals and inanimate objects. If I get into a carriage, I can tell from the look of the horses if they are likely to run away; and from that of the coachman, if he will overturn me. If I go on board ship, I can see if the captain is ignorant or obstinate, and consequently likely to endanger me. I should then leave the coachman or captain, escape from those horses or that ship. I do not deny chance, I only lessen it, and instead of incurring a hundred chances, like the rest of the world, I prevent ninety-nine of them, and endeavor to guard against the hundredth. This is the good of having lived three thousand years.”
“Then,” said La Pérouse, laughing, amidst the wonder and enthusiasm created by this speech of Cagliostro’s, “you should come with me when I embark to make the tour of the world; you would render me a signal service.”
Cagliostro did not reply.
“M. de Richelieu,” continued La Pérouse, “as the Count Cagliostro, which is very intelligible, does not wish to quit such good company, you must permit me to do so without him. Excuse me, Count Haga, and you, madame, but it is seven o’clock, and I have promised his majesty to start at a quarter past. But since Count Cagliostro will not be tempted to come with me, and see my ships, perhaps he can tell me what will happen to me between Versailles and Brest. From Brest to the Pole I ask nothing; that is my own business.”
Cagliostro looked at La Pérouse with such a melancholy air, so full both of pity and kindness, that the others were struck by it. The sailor himself, however, did not remark it. He took leave of the company, put on his fur riding coat, into one of the pockets of which Madame Dubarry pushed a bottle of delicious cordial, welcome to a traveler, but which he would not have provided for himself, to recall to him, she said, his absent friends during the long nights of a journey in such bitter cold.
La Pérouse, still full of gaiety, bowed respectfully to Count Haga, and held out his hand to the old marshal.
“Adieu, dear La Pérouse,” said the latter.
“No, duke, au revoir,” replied La Pérouse, “one would think I was going away forever; now I have but to circumnavigate the globe—five or six years’ absence; it is scarcely worth while to say ‘adieu’ for that.”
“Five or six years,” said the marshal; “you might almost as well say five or six centuries; days are years at my age, therefore I say, adieu.”
“Bah! ask the sorcerer,” returned La Pérouse, still laughing; “he will promise you twenty years’ more life. Will you not, Count Cagliostro? Oh, count, why did I not hear sooner of those precious drops of yours? Whatever the price, I should have shipped a tun. Madame, another kiss of that beautiful hand, I shall certainly not see such another till I return; au revoir,” and he left the room.