istich?" asked the chevalier, more and more
astonished.

"'Facilis descensus Averni,'" said the mask, laughing.

"My dear genius," cried the chevalier, trying to peep through the
openings in the stranger's mask, "that, allow me to inform you, is a
quotation rather masculine."

"Do you not know that genii are of both sexes?"

"Yes; but I had never heard that they quoted the AEneid so fluently."

"Is not the quotation appropriate? You speak to me of the Sybil of Cuma;
I answer you in her language. You ask for existing things; I give them
you. But you mortals are never satisfied."

"No; for I confess that this knowledge of the past and the present
inspires me with a terrible desire to know the future."

"There are always two futures," said the mask; "there is the future of
weak minds, and the future of strong minds. God has given man free will
that he might choose. Your future depends on yourself."

"But we must know these two futures to choose the best."

"Well, there is one which awaits you, somewhere in the environs of
Nevers, in the depth of the country, among the rabbits of your warren,
and the fowls of your poultry-yard. This one will conduct you straight
to the magistrate's bench of your parish. It is an easy ambition, and
you have only to let yourself go to attain it. You are on the road."

"And the other?" replied the chevalier, visibly piqued at the
supposition that in any case such a future could be his.

"The other," said the stranger, leaning her arm on that of the young
man, and fixing her eyes on him through her mask; "the other will throw
you back into noise and light--will make you one of the actors in the
game which is playing in the world, and, whether you gain or lose, will
leave you at least the renown of a great player."

"If I lose, what shall I lose?" asked the chevalier.

"Life, probably."

The chevalier tossed his head contemptuously.

"And if I win?" added he.

"What do you say to the rank of colonel of horse, the title of Grandee
of Spain, and the order of the Saint Esprit, without counting the
field-marshal's baton in prospective?"

"I say that the prize is worth the stake, and that if you can prove to
me that you can keep your promise, I am your man."

"This proof," replied the mask, "must be given you by another, and if
you wish to have it you must follow me."

"Oh!" said D'Harmental, "am I deceived, and are you but a genius of the
second order--a subaltern spirit, an i