“Open the letter and convince yourselves of the contents!” commanded Cagliostro.
“It is unnecessary,” cried Bischofswerder, with enthusiasm. “We recognize in you truth and knowledge; you have revealed to us the contents.”
“Nay, there is a lingering doubt in the mind of brother Chrysophorus!” said Cagliostro, regarding Woellner fixedly, who stood with downcast eyes before him.
“My ruler and master,” stammered Woellner, in confusion, “I dare not doubt, only—”
“You would only be convinced, open then the letter,” interrupted Cagliostro, sarcastically.
With a sharp knife, Bischofswerder cut the end of the envelope, and handed the letter to him.
“Give it to Chrysophorus,” commanded the count. “He shall read it, and may the incredulous become a believer!”
Woellner perused the epistle with a slightly tremulous voice, stopping now and then, at an illegible word, which his master quickly supplied to him, finishing the sentence as correctly as if he held the writing in his hand.
The contents were exactly as Cagliostro had given them, and the farther Wollner read, the more his voice quivered and Bischofswerder’s enthusiasm increased.
As the reading was finished, the former sank, with uplifted hands, before his master, as if imploring mercy from a mighty, crushing power.