Still, success is not entirely rose-colored, and I could easily narrate many disagreeable scenes produced by the reputation I had of being a sorcerer; but I will only mention one, which forms a résumé of all I pass over:
A young lady of elegant manners paid me a visit one day, and although her face was hidden by a thick veil, my practised eyes perfectly distinguished her features. She was very pretty.
My incognita would not consent to sit down till she was assured we were alone, and that I was the real Robert-Houdin. I also seated myself, and assuming the attitude of a man prepared to listen, I bent slightly to my visitor, as if awaiting her pleasure to explain to me the object of her mysterious visit. To my great surprise, the young lady, whose manner betrayed extreme emotion, maintained the most profound silence, and I began to find the visit very strange, and was on the point of forcing an explanation, at any hazard, when the fair unknown timidly ventured these words:
“Good Heavens! sir, I know not how you will interpret my visit.”
Here she stopped, and let her eyes sink with a very embarrassed air; then, making a violent effort, she continued:
“What I have to ask of you, sir, is very difficult to explain.”
“Speak, madam, I beg,” I said, politely, “and I will try to guess what you cannot explain to me.”
And I began asking myself what this reserve meant.
“In the first place,” the young lady said, in a low voice, and looking round her, “I must tell you confidentially that I loved, my love was returned, and I—I am betrayed.”
At the last word the lady raised her head, overcame the timidity she felt, and said, in a firm and assured voice,