“You know,” replied Philippe, “that I would sooner entomb myself in it, than see those whom I defend in danger.”
“Well, I have warned you.”
“And I,” said Philippe, “I, who am but a feeble individual, will use against you the arms of the weak. I implore you, with tearful eyes and joined hands, to be merciful towards those whom you pursue. I ask you to spare me the remorse of knowing you were acting against this poor queen, and not preventing you. I beg you to destroy this publication, which would make a woman shed tears. I ask you, by the love which you have guessed, or I swear that with this sword, which has proved so powerless against you, I will pierce myself before your eyes!”
“Ah!” murmured Cagliostro, “why are they not all like you? Then I would join them, and they should not perish.”
“Monsieur, monsieur, I pray you to reply to me!”
“See, then,” said Cagliostro, “if all the thousand numbers be there, and burn them yourself.”
Philippe ran to the cabinet, took them out, and threw them on the fire. “Adieu, monsieur!” then he said; “a hundred thanks for the favor you have granted me.”
“I owed the brother,” said Cagliostro, when he had gone, “some compensation for all I made the sister endure.”
Then he called for his carriage.