“The oldest person I know of, is the Abbot of St. Mary’s,” interrupted the barber, “and he——”
“And he——” repeated Wagner, with feverish impatience.
“Is ninety-seven and three months, signor; a great age, truly,” responded the barber-surgeon.
Fernand’s hopes were immediately cooled down; but thinking that he ought to put his inquiry in a direct manner, he said: “Then it is not true that you have in Syracuse an individual who has reached the wondrous age of a century three-score and two?”
“Holy Virgin have mercy upon you, signor!” ejaculated the barber, “if you really put faith in the absurd stories that people tell about the Rosicrucians!”
“Ah! then the people of Syracuse do talk on such matters?” said Wagner, conceiving that he had obtained a clew to the aim and object of his inquiry.
“Have you never heard, signor, of the Order of the Rosy Cross?” demanded the barber, who was naturally of a garrulous disposition, and who now appeared to have entered on a favorite subject.
“I have heard, in my travels, vague mention made of such an order,” answered Fernand; “but I never experienced any curiosity to seek to learn more—and, indeed, I may say, that I know nothing of the Rosicrucians save their mere name.”
“Well, signor,” continued the barber, “for common pass-talk, it is as good a subject as any other; but no one shall ever persuade me either that there is really such an order as the Brothers of the Rosy Cross, or that it is possible for human beings to attain the powers attributed to that fraternity.”
“You interest me much by your remarks, good leech,” exclaimed Fernand; “I pray you to give me further explanation.”