Madame de Grammont, to scatter the clouds which the last answer had occasioned, contented herself by saying in a facetious tone: "You shall see that he will not even allow me the comfort of a father confessor!"
Cazotte.—"No, madam! you will not get one; neither you nor any one else! The last one executed, who, out of mercy, will have received a father confessor"—here he stopped a moment—
Duchess.—"Well, who will be the fortunate one, when this fortunate preference will be granted?"
Cazotte.—"It will be the only preference that he shall yet keep; and this will be the king of France!"
Now the host arose from the table, and all with him. He went to Cazotte, and said with an excited voice, "My dear M. Cazotte, this lamentable jest has lasted long. You carry it too far, and within a degree where you place the company in which you are, and yourself, into danger."
Cazotte answered not, and made himself ready to go away, when madame Grammont, who always tried to prevent the matter from being taken seriously, and exerted herself to restore the gaiety of the company, went to him, and said: "Now, M. Prophet! you have told us all our fortunes, but you say nothing of your own fate?"
He was silent and cast down his eyes; then he said: "Have you, madame, read, in Josephus, the history of the siege of Jerusalem?"
Duchess.—"Certainly! who has not read it? but you seem to think that I have not!"
Cazotte.—"Well, madame, during the siege a man went round the city, upon the walls, for seven days, in the face of the besiegers and the besieged, and cried continually, with a mournful voice, 'Wo unto Jerusalem! Wo unto Jerusalem!' but on the seventh day he cried, 'Wo unto me!' and at that moment he was dashed to pieces by an immense stone, which the machines of the enemy had thrown."
After these words, M. Cazotte bowed himself, and went away.