I was relieved, for the sage seemed to blurt out secrets in an
unexpected way; and some of mine might not have amused the Count.
I thought for a moment. I wished to test the prophet. A
Church-of-England man was a _rara avis_ in Paris.
"What is my religion?" I asked.
"A beautiful heresy," answered the oracle instantly.
"A heresy?--and pray how is it named?"
"Love."
"Oh! Then I suppose I am a polytheist, and love a great many?"
"One."
"But, seriously," I asked, intending to turn the course of our colloquy
a little out of an embarrassing channel, "have I ever learned any words
of devotion by heart?"
"Yes."
"Can you repeat them?"
"Approach."
I did, and lowered my ear.
The man with the black wand closed the curtains, and whispered, slowly
and distinctly, these words which, I need scarcely tell you, I instantly
recognized:
_"I may never see you more; and, oh! I that I could forget
you!--go--farewell--for God's sake, go!"_
I started as I heard them. They were, you know, the last words whispered
to me by the Countess.
"Good Heavens! How miraculous! Words heard most assuredly, by no ear on
earth but my own and the lady's who uttered them, till now!"
I looked at the impassive face of the spokesman with the wand. There was
no trace of meaning, or even of a consciousness that the words he had
uttered could possibly interest me.
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