of the Count Cagliostro.  I took little interest in it, for, from the moment of my neighbour’s refusal to drink, I had done nothing but study his pale and small featured countenance.  His nose was flat and sharp-pointed at the same time, and occasionally an expression came to his eyes that gave him the appearance of a weasel.  All at once the blood rushed to his cheeks when he heard Madame St James say to M. de Calonne—­

“But I assure you, sir, I have actually seen Queen Cleopatra.”

“I believe it, madame,” exclaimed my neighbour; “for I have spoken to Catharine de Medicis.”

“Oh! oh!” laughed M. De Calonne.

The words uttered by the little provincial had an indefinable sonorousness.  The sudden clearness of intonation, from a man who, up to this time, had scarcely spoken above his breath, startled us all.

“And how was her late Majesty?” said M. De Calonne.

“I can’t positively declare that the person with whom I supped last night was Catharine de Medicis herself, for a miracle like that must be incredible to a Christian as well as to a philosopher,” replied the attorney, resting the points of his fingers on the table, and setting himself up in his chair, as if he intended to speak for some time; “but I can swear that the person, whoever she was, resembled Catharine de Medicis as if they had been sisters.  She wore a black velvet robe, exactly like the dress of that queen given in her portrait in the Royal Gallery; and the rapidity of her evocation was most surprising, as M. De Cagliostro had no idea of the person I should desire him to call up.  I was confounded.  The sight of a supper at which the illustrious women of past ages were present, took away my self-command.  I listened without daring to ask a question.  On getting away at midnight from the power of his enchantments, I almost doubted of my own existence.  But what is the most wonderful thing about it is, that all those marvels appear to be quite natural and commonplace compared to the extraordinary hallucination I was subjected to afterwards.  I don’t know how to explain the state of my feelings to you in words; I will only say that, from henceforth, I an not surprised that there are spirits—­strong enough or weak enough, I know not which—­to believe in the mysteries of magic and the power of demons.”

These words were pronounced with an incredible eloquence of tone.  They were calculated to arrest our attention, and all eyes were fixed on the speaker.  In that man, so cold and self-possessed, there burned a hidden fire which began to act upon us all.

“I know not,” he continued, “whether the figure followed me in a state of invisibility; but the moment I got into bed, I saw the great shade of Catharine rise before me:  all of a sudden she bent her head towards me—­but I don’t know whether I ought to go on,” said the narrator, interrupting himself; “for though I must believe it was only a dream, what I have to tell is of the utmost weight.”