“Madame, allow me first to ask you one question. How did you come to seek me here, since I do not live here?” Jeanne trembled. “How did you get in?—for there are neither porter nor servants in this part of my hotel. It could not be me you sought here—who was it? You do not reply; I must aid you a little. You came in by the help of a key which you have now in your pocket. You came to seek a young woman whom from pure kindness I had concealed here.”
Jeanne trembled visibly, but replied, “If it were so, it is no crime; one woman is permitted to visit another. Call her; she will tell you if my friendship is a hurtful one.”
“Madame, you say that because you know she is not here.”
“Not here! Oliva not here?”
“Oh you do not know that—you, who helped her to escape!”
“I!” cried Jeanne; “you accuse me of that?”
“I convict you,” replied Cagliostro; and he took a paper from the table, and showed her the following words, addressed to himself:
“Monsieur, and my generous protector, forgive me for leaving you; but above all things I love M. Beausire. He came and I follow him. Adieu! Believe in my gratitude!”
“Beausire!” cried Jeanne, petrified; “he, who did not even know her address?”
“Oh, madame, here is another paper, which was doubtless dropped by M. Beausire.” The countess read, shuddering: