“Nay,” said Valenglard, in a serious tone, which struck me as supremely ridiculous, “she must go; her fate must be fulfilled.”

The fair Mdlle.  Roman seemed all amazed.  I let them talk on, and we sat down to dinner.

[The next two paragraphs were misplaced in the original, likely by the typesetter, and have been inserted here where it seems that they belong.  D.W.]

I hoped I should be asked to take the diamond to Paris myself, and I felt inclined to grant the request.  I flattered myself that they could not do without me, and that I should get what I wanted, if not for love at any rate through gratitude; indeed, who knew what might become of the plan?  The monarch would be sure to be caught directly.  I had no doubts on that subject, for where is the man in love who does not think that his beloved object will win the hearts of all others?  For the moment I felt quite jealous of the king, but, from my thorough knowledge of my own inconstancy, I felt sure that my jealousy would cease when my love had been rewarded, and I was aware that Louis XV. did not altogether hold the opinions of a Turk in such concerns.  What gave an almost divine character to the horoscope was the prediction of a son to be born, who would make the happiness of France, and could only come from the royal blood and from a singular vessel of election.

A curious fancy increased my delight, namely, the thought of becoming a famous astrologer in an age when reason and science had so justly demolished astrology.  I enjoyed the thought of seeing myself sought out by crowned heads, which are always the more accessible to superstitious notions.  I determined I would be particular to whom I gave my advice.  Who has not made his castles in Spain?  If Mdlle.  Roman gave birth to a daughter instead of a son I should be amused, and all would not be lost, for a son might come afterwards.

At first silence reigned, and then the conversation ran on a thousand trifles, as is usual in good society, but by degrees, as I had thought, they returned to the horoscope.

“According to the horoscope,” said the aunt, “the king is to fall in love with my niece in her eighteenth year; she is now close on it.  What are we to do?  Where are we to get the hundred louis necessary?  And when she gets to Paris is she to go to the king and say, ‘Here I am, your majesty’?  And who is going to take her there?  I can’t.”

“My aunt Roman might,” said the young lady, blushing up to her eyes at the roar of laughter which none of us could restrain.

“Well,” said Madame Morin, “there is Madame Varnier, of the Rue de Richelieu; she is an aunt of yours.  She has a good establishment, and knows everybody.”

“See,” said Valenglard, “how the ways of destiny are made plain.  You talk of a hundred louis; twelve will be sufficient to take you to Madame Varnier’s.  When you get there, leave the rest to your fate, which will surely favour you.”