“Well, then—someone knocks at your door.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me his fate: when he shall die and how?”
“Be it so,” rejoined the sorcerer, “let us go and open the door to him.”
Gilbert proceed towards the corridor end, with a beating of the heart which he could not repress, albeit he whispered to himself that it was absurd to take this quackering as serious.
The door opened. A man of lofty carriage, tall in stature, and with strong-will impressed on his lineaments, appeared on the sill and cast a swift glance on Dr. Gilbert not exempt from uneasiness.
“Good day, marquis,” said Cagliostro.
“How do you do, baron?” responded the other.
“Marquis,” went on the host as he saw the caller’s gaze still settled on the doctor, “this is one of my friends, Dr. Gilbert. Gilbert, you see Marquis Favras, one of my clients. Marquis, will you kindly step into my sitting-room,” continued he as the two saluted each other, “and wait for a few seconds when I shall be with you.”
“Well?” queried Gilbert as the marquis bowed again and went into the parlor.