“No less,” he admitted. “But there is the greater miracle to come—the transmutation of base metal into gold.”
“And you will perform it?”
“Let me but conquer the secret of solidifying mercury, and the rest is naught. I shall conquer it, and soon.”
He spoke with easy confidence, a man stating something that he knew beyond the possibility of doubt. The Marquise became thoughtful. She sighed.
“You are the master of deep secrets, Vanens. Have you none that will soften flinty hearts, make them responsive?”
He considered this woman whom Saint-Simon has called “beautiful as the day,” and his smile broadened.
“Look in your mirror for the alchemy needed there,” he bade her.
Anger rippled across the perfect face. She lowered, “I have looked—in vain. Can you not help me, Vanens, you who know so much?”
“A love-philtre?” said he, and hummed. “Are you in earnest?”
“Do you mock me with that question? Is not my need proclaimed for all to see?”