“I have pledged myself to secresy.”
“This is growing dark. At least you can name the wizard?”
“Yes, the Count of Fenix—— ”
“That won’t do—all good magicians have names ending in the round O.”
“The cap fits—his other name is Joseph Balsamo.”
The countess clasped her hands while looking at Richelieu, who wore a puzzled look.
“And was the devil very black? did he come up in green fire and stir a saucepan with a horrid stench?”
“Why, no! my magician has excellent manners; he is quite a gentleman and entertains one capitally.”
“Would you not like him to tell your fortune, countess?” inquired the duke, well knowing that Lady Dubarry had asserted that when she was a poor girl on the Paris streets, a man had prophesied she would be a queen. This man she maintained was Balsamo. “Where does he dwell?”
“Saint Claude Street, I remember, in the Swamp.”