“But you do not believe!”
“Honestly not, count,” said the duke; “how can you expect any one to believe such things?”
“Would you believe if I told you what the courier is doing who bears this letter to the Duke of Choiseul?”
“Of course,” responded the countess.
“I shall when I hear the voice,” subjoined the duke.
“But you magicians and necromanciers have the privilege of seeing and hearing the supernatural.”
Balsamo shot at the speaker so singular a glance that the countess thrilled in every vein and the sceptical egotist felt a chill down his neck and back.
“True,” said he, after a long silence, “I alone see and hear things and beings beyond your ken: but when I meet those of your grace’s rank and hight of intellect and of your beauty, fair lady, I open my treasures and share. You shall hear the mystic voice.”
The countess trembled, and the duke clenched his fist not to do the same.
“What language shall it use?”