He embraced her tenderly, and Wilhelmine accompanied the prince to the carriage, and returned to survey anew the beautiful rooms which were now her own possession. An unspeakable, unknown feeling was roused in her, and voices, which she had never heard, spoke to her from the depths of her heart. “You are no longer a despised, homeless creature,” they whispered. “You have a home, a foot of earth to call your own. Make yourself a name, that you may be of consequence in the world. You are clever and beautiful, and with your prudence and beauty you can win a glorious future! Remember the Marquise de Pompadour, neglected and scorned as you, until a king loved her, and she became the wife of a king, and all France bowed down to her. Even the Empress Maria Theresa honored her with her notice, and called her cousin. I am also the favorite of a future king, and I will also become the queen of my king!”
Wilhelmine had remained standing in the midst of the great drawing-room, which she was passing through, listening to these seductive voices, to these strange pictures of the future. In her imagination she saw herself in this room surrounded with splendor and magnificence, and sparkling with gems. She saw around her elegantly-attired ladies and gentlemen, in brilliant uniforms, glittering with orders; saw every-where smiling faces, and respectful manners. She saw all eyes turned to her, and heard only flattering words, which resounded for her from every lip—for her, once so despised and scorned! “It shall be, yes, it shall be,” cried she aloud. “I will be the queen of my king! I will become the Prussian Marquise de Pompadour; that I swear by the heads of my children, by—”
“Rather swear by thy own beautiful head, Wilhelmine,” said a voice behind her. Startled, she turned, and beheld the tall figure of a man, wrapped in a long cloak, who stood in the open door.
“Who are you?” she cried, amazed. “How dare you enter here?”
The figure closed the door, without answering, and, slowly approaching Wilhelmine, fixed his black eyes upon her with a searching gaze. She tried to summon help, but the words died on her lips; her cheeks blanched with terror, and, as if rooted to the floor, she stood with outstretched arms imploring the approaching form. The figure smiled, but there was something commanding in its manner, and in the fiery eyes, which rested upon her. When quite near her, it raised its right hand with an impatient movement. Immediately her arms fell at her side, her cheeks glowed, and a bright smile lighted up her face. Then it lifted the three-cornered, gold-bordered hat which shaded its face, nodding to her.
“Do you recognize me, Wilhelmine?” he asked, in a sweet, melodious voice.
“Yes,” she answered, her eyes still fixed upon him. “You are Cagliostro, the great ruler and magician.”
“Where did we meet?”
“I remember; it was in Paris, at the house of the governor of the Bastile, M. Delaunay. You caused me to read in a glass the future—a bright, glorious future. I was surrounded with splendor and magnificence. I saw myself glittering with gems; a king knelt at my feet. I was encircled by richly-attired courtiers, who bowed before me, and honored me, whispering: ‘We salute you, O beautiful countess; be gracious to us, exalted princess!’ It sounded like heavenly music, and I shouted with delight.”
“Was that all?” said Cagliostro, solemnly, “that the crystal showed you.”