"I cannot say," replied the councillor. "He has been told that you have in your household an Italian, a heretic of the worst sort, who, so it seems, may well be a certain Lucilio Giovellino, condemned at Rome as a believer in Giordano Bruno's detestable doctrines."
The marquis turned pale: he had maintained his tranquillity in face of danger to himself; his friend's danger terrified him.
"Do you admit it?" said the councillor, carelessly. "For my own part, I think that the poor devil was punished enough, and I wish him no other harm than what has already been inflicted on him. You can tell me everything. I will try to divert the prince's suspicions."
"Monsieur Lenet," rejoined Bois-Doré, obeying a sudden inspiration, "the man to whom you refer is not a heretic, he is an astrologer of the most marvellous learning. He has recourse to no magic arts, but reads human destinies in the stars with such extraordinary skill that the events of life seem to abide by decrees written on the skies. There is nothing in his operations inconsistent with the duty of an honorable man and a good Christian; and you know as well as I that Monsieur le Prince, who is the most orthodox Catholic in the kingdom, constantly consults astrologers, as the most illustrious persons in all times, even crowned heads, have done."
"I do not know where you have learned what you say, monsieur," rejoined the councillor, shrugging his shoulders; "I have long lived and still live in the prince's confidence, and I have never known him to resort to such practices."
"And yet, monsieur," replied the marquis with assurance, "I am certain that he would in nowise censure my friend's practices, and I beg you to say to him, that if he will deign to test his skill, he will be highly gratified."
"The prince will laugh at your confidence; but I do not refuse to mention the subject to him. Let us return to the most urgent question, which is to extricate you from this difficulty. I do not conceal from you that I have orders to make a search of your house."
"A search?" echoed the marquis in amazement; "a search for what purpose, monsieur?"
"For the sole purpose of making sure that you have no cabalistic books and instruments; for you are accused of practising magic, not so much for the amusement of reckoning numbers and watching the stars, as for suspicious objects and by virtue of a sort of worship of the spirit of evil."
"Really, monsieur le conseiller, you have kept this for a bonne bouche! Is this all of which I am accused? shall I not be required to defend myself against anything worse?"