"You have told me of that remarkable pupil of Lenormand," said the emperor. "Morny, too, has spoken to me of her, Madame Moreau, is she not?"

Pietri smiled.

"She has really foretold things in a wonderful way; I once visited her myself, and I was much struck by her prophecies."

"And were they fulfilled?" asked the emperor.

"Much, sire, that she foretold happened."

"I will h.o.a.r her," said Napoleon; "come with me."

And he went down the staircase leading to his room; followed by his secretary.

They walked along a corridor, and pa.s.sed through a side door into an inner court of the Tuileries; here stood a plain carriage with two black horses, a coachman, not in livery, sat on the box; it looked like a doctor's carriage.

The emperor stepped in.

Pietri followed him and cried to the coachman, "5, Rue Tournon."

The carriage started at a brisk trot, and drove down the Rue de Rivoli.

A second carriage, equally unremarkable, followed at a little distance.

It contained the chief of the palace police, and one of his officers.

In the old part of Paris, near the palace of the Luxembourg, is the Rue Tournon, one of those ancient streets bearing the stamp of past times, with low houses, old sashes, and small windows. The emperor's carriage stopped before No. 5; Pietri went first through a large open doorway leading into a small _porte-cochere_. The emperor followed him. The second carriage stopped at the corner of the street, its occupants got out, and began smoking and chatting as they slowly paced the trottoir.

Napoleon followed his secretary through the _porte-cochere_, and at the end of it walked up some high dark steps leading to a door. A small landing at the top of the first flight was lighted by a plain but elegant lamp, and a white china door-plate bore the name of Madame Moreau.

"It is the same house and the same apartment that Lenormand occupied,"

said Pietri, as he rang the bell near the door-plate.

The emperor looked round with great interest.

"Here then came Napoleon the First," said he, thoughtfully, "and here the crown was prophesied which he afterwards obtained."

The door opened. A young woman dressed like a Parisian housemaid appeared. The emperor pulled up the collar of his coat, and held his handkerchief before the lower part of his face.

Pietri stepped forwards and concealed him.

"Madame Moreau?" he asked.

"I do not know whether madame still receives," replied the girl; "it is very late."

"We are friends," said Pietri. "Madame will admit us."

"Walk into the salon, gentlemen; I will announce you."

She led the emperor and his secretary to a small, but richly and elegantly furnished room. Thick carpets covered the floor, large fauteuils stood around a table, on which lay several ill.u.s.trated journals, a large lamp hung from the ceiling, and brightly lighted up the room.

"Your majesty must learn to wait in the ante-room," said Pietri, jestingly, as he wheeled a chair towards Napoleon.

He only placed his hand lightly on the back, and looked round the room with great interest. On the wall hung a large engraving, his own likeness in his coronation robes. With a slight sigh the emperor glanced at the slender, youthful figure represented; then he said, pointing it out laughingly to Pietri:

"This lady appears well disposed."

"She is a scholar of Lenormand, sire," replied Pietri, "and holds to the traditions of her mistress; also she was an especial favourite of the Duke de Morny."

A small door concealed by a very thick dark _portiere_ opened, the curtain was pushed aside, and a short, rather stout lady in a plain black dress appeared in the doorway. She was about fifty years of age, with dark smooth hair and lively black eyes, so keen and piercing, that they were an almost startling contrast to the somewhat puffy and very commonplace face to which they belonged.

Pietri advanced.

"I thank you, madame," he said, "for receiving us at this late hour.

You have already given me such brilliant proofs of your art, that I have brought a friend who is travelling through Paris, and who begs you to unveil his future."

"Walk this way, messieurs," said Madame Moreau quietly, in an agreeable voice and with the manner of a lady of good society.

And she returned to her cabinet. Pietri and the emperor followed her.

This cabinet was a small square room, which had besides the door leading into the salon, a second door, through which visitors could depart who did not care to face those who might be waiting in the other apartment. This cabinet had a dark carpet. The window looking towards the courtyard was concealed by ample thick green curtains. A tall old chest stood against the wall, near to the window was a somewhat small table covered with a green cloth, and before it a large chair in which the prophetess generally sat. Upon the table stood a lamp with a dark green shade, which lighted up the surface of the table, and left the rest of the room in deep shadow. Upon the other side of the table stood a few dark green chairs and a small divan of the same colour.

The emperor seated himself in an arm-chair in the shadow, and put his handkerchief to his face.

Madame Moreau took no notice. She was accustomed to guests who desired to preserve a strict incognito.

She took her place at the table and asked, "Do you wish the _grand jeu?_"

"Certainly," replied Pietri, who stood close to Napoleon's chair.

"Will monsieur then show me his hand? The left if he pleases."

Napoleon rose and walked to the table, so that the shadow of the dark lamp shade fell on his face, and he held out his hand to the soothsayer; long, slender, and soft it looked much younger than his face or figure.

Madame Moreau seized this hand, turned the palm upwards, and opened the line between the thumb and forefinger to its utmost extent.

"What a tenacious, enduring will," she said, without raising her eyes from the emperor's hand; "yet there is a weakness here, a hesitating delay; this hand is formed to draw the bow with care and skill, but it will hesitate before letting the arrow fly; it wishes to remain lord of the arrow in its flight, but the arrow then belongs to fate. This hand will not quickly loose the string even when the aim is taken, and the eye perceives that the right moment has come; it will launch the arrow from the concussion of a sudden doubt,--but the arrow obeys the eternal might of Providence," she added, in a low voice. She then continued her attentive examination of the palm. "Broken soon after its beginning, the line of life winds in entwining curves, often crossed and stopped by opposing lines, then it rises in a bold, broad arch, higher and higher, until--"

She gazed with a vacant, dreamy look upon the hand, and remained silent.

"You have a remarkable hand, monsieur," she said, without looking up; "the great Fabius Cunctator must have had a hand like yours--yet here are lines which must have been found in the hand of Catiline, though without the restless haste of that conspirator, and here are the lines of Caesar--no, of Augustus. Sir," she said, "your hand is very remarkable, it is formed slowly and carefully to knot the threads of fate, it is made to build up and to collect, to uphold and to foster, and yet fate often compels it to destroy."

"And whither does the line of life lead?" asked the emperor, in so low a voice that the sound was scarcely heard.

Madame Moreau said slowly and thoughtfully:

"It turns back to whence it came."

Napoleon looked at Pietri.