row; he was to meet me there, and take me to his
aunt's to dinner. No one else was to be present.

The next day we met each other as had been arranged, and went to see
Madame d'Urfe, who lived on the Quai des Theatins, on the same side as
the "Hotel Bouillon."

Madame d'Urfe, a woman advanced in years, but still handsome, received me
with all the courtly grace of the Court of the Regency. We spent an hour
and a half in indifferent conversation, occupied in studying each other's
character. Each was trying to get at the bottom of the other.

I had not much trouble in playing the part of the unenlightened, for
such, in point of fact, was my state of mind, and Madame d'Urfe
unconsciously betrayed the desire of shewing her learning; this put me at
my ease, for I felt sure I could make her pleased with me if I succeeded
in making her pleased with herself.

At two o'clock the same dinner that was prepared every day for twelve was
served for us three. Nothing worthy of note (so far as conversation went)
was done at dinner, as we talked commonplace after the manner of people
of fashion.

After the dessert Tour d'Auvergne left us to go and see the Prince de
Turenne, who was in a high fever, and after he was gone Madame d'Urfe
began to discuss alchemy and magic, and all the other branches of her
beloved science, or rather infatuation. When we got on to the magnum
opus, and I asked her if she knew the nature of the first matter, it was
only her politeness which prevented her from laughing; but controlling
herself, she replied graciously that she already possessed the
philosopher's stone, and that she was acquainted with all the operations
of the work. She then shewed me a collection of books which had belonged
to the great d'Urfe, and Renee of Savoy, his wife; but she had added to
it manuscripts which had cost her more than a hundred thousand francs.
Paracelsus was her favourite author, and according to her he was neither
man, woman, nor hermaphrodite, and had the misfortune to poison himself
with an overdose of his panacea, or universal medicine. She shewed me a
short manuscript in French, where the great work was clearly explained.
She told me that she did not keep it under lock and key, because it was
written in a cypher, the secret of which was known only to herself.

"You do not believe, then, in steganography."

"No, sir, and if you would like it, I will give you this which has been
copied from the original."

"I acc