“The count was not at all of the same mind. He insisted on penetrating to the solving of the enigma. We had been the victims of a hateful and odious charlatanism. I did not feel so convinced of that as he was, and the abominable spectacle would not quit my imagination. For the rest of that day, and the following night, I saw nothing but devils dancing and howling amid the flames.” * * * * * And then it was just before break of dawn, between her sleeping and waking, came once again the Man in Black. He smilingly asserted himself to Ninon, to be, beyond all doubt and juggling hocus-pocus, his Satanic Majesty, the real “Simon Pure.” In calm, grave tones he offered her the choice of the three great gifts this world has to bestow—riches, grandeur, beauty—enduring beauty till all-destroying Death should claim her, and with only a momentary hesitation, Ninon chose beauty. Then in two crystal phials, like the one the charlatans had yesterday cheated her out of in the Gentilly cavern, he handed her the wondrous liquid—limpid, delicately rose-tinted; enough to last the longest lifetime, since one drop only in a wine-glass of water, to be taken after her morning bath, was all that was needed. First, however, he produced his tablets, and writing a few words on one of the pages, he bade her set her signature beneath. “Very good,” he said, when she had done this. As he placed the phials in her hands, “Now you are mine,” and he added, as he laid his hand on her shoulder, that her health would remain almost unbroken through all the coming years, troops of friends and love would be ever with her, and after death the memory of her would be unfading. Once more she would see him—years hence. “Then beware and tremble; you will not have three more days to live.” And so he disappeared.[2]