As the sleeping man gave utterance to these inspired prophesies, the less tall of the two strangers appeared disturbed, and almost rising to his feet with excitement, he said:
“Then this man’s career will resemble my own?”
“As fire resembles ice. This man’s career will be peaceful; his path will not be stained by one single drop of blood. No maimed men will curse, no widows weep, no orphans cry for vengeance, nor will the ignorance of the people constitute the lever of his power, nor be the instrument by means of which he will vault into a throne!”
“But I am strong!—Mexico!—Empire!—The Latin race!—The Church!—Maximilian! What can break this chain, supposing I establish the last link, as I intend to?”
“Fate! The United States will, in that case, soon find time to breathe upon France and the New Empire! That breath will settle as a cloud, but, when it rises, two dynasties will have disappeared forever!”
“Damnation!” exclaimed the questioner, and he stamped his feet and ground his teeth with rage almost demoniac.
“There will be two damned nations, if that programme is carried out,” said the sleeping man, in tones musical and calm, as if he was discussing the merits of a play rather than prophesying the fate and destinies of Empires.
For a moment there was silence. At length Ravalette spoke—
“And now my turn. What, O sleeper! what of me?”
The seer smiled blandly, stretched forth his hands toward both the tall personage and the Enigma. They went forward, grasped the sleeper’s hands in their own, and—