A CONVERSATION LITTLE APPERTAINING TO THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.—RESEARCHES INTO HUMAN FATE.—THE PREDICTION.
On entering the apartment he found Lucilla seated on a low stool beside the astrologer. She looked up when she heard his footsteps; but her countenance seemed so dejected, that he turned involuntarily to that of Volktman for explanation. Volktman met his gaze with a steadfast and mournful aspect.
“What has happened?” asked the Englishman: “you seem sad,—you do not greet me as usual.”
“I have been with the stars,” replied the visionary.
“They seem but poor company,” rejoined the Englishman; “and do not appear to have much heightened your spirits.”
“Jest not, my friend,” said Volktman; “it was for the loss of thee I looked sorrowful. I perceive that thou wilt take a journey soon, and that it will be of no pleasant nature.”
“Indeed!” answered the Englishman, smilingly. “I ask leave to question the fact: you know better than any man how often, through an error in our calculations, through haste, even through an over-attention, astrological predictions are exposed to falsification; and at present I foresee so little chance of my quitting Rome, that I prefer the earthly probabilities to the celestial.”
“My schemes are just, and the Heavens wrote their decrees in their clearest language,” answered the astrologer. “Thou art on the eve of quitting Rome.”
“On what occasion?”
The astrologer hesitated—the young visitor pressed the question.