"Be not alarmed," he resumed, blandly, and with an expression in those serpent-like orbs that was _not_ a smile; "you have nothing to fear from me--as yet." "As yet!" repeated Ninon, breathlessly. "Listen, mademoiselle," said he, striking his long silver-headed cane on the floor; "you see before you one whom all mankind--yea, and womankind, too--obey and fear; one whom Nature hath endowed with the rare power of dispensing wondrous gifts. I was present at your birth----" "You?" "I; and from that hour I have watched your career, sedulously, and with satisfaction, though unseen." "This is folly or raving!" exclaimed Ninon, gathering courage, and stretching out her beautiful hand towards a bell; but a sharp, fierce glance from the old man's great goggle eyes restrained her, and she said, gently, "What is your object?" "To inquire what lot you wish for yourself in life." "My present one is brilliant enough. I have an income of ten thousand livres, a house here in Paris, another at the Cordeliers, a circle of delightful friends, and lovers in plenty." "Friends change and lovers too; beauty fades, youth becomes age, and age becomes wearisome and hideous." "True; but I am only seventeen--for seventeen years more, at least, I shall be beautiful." "You will then be four-and-thirty, mademoiselle, when beauty begins to fade and the ripe bloom of youth is past. Then old age _will_ come, and that is what my friend De la Rochefoucault terms 'the _hell_ of women.' "Your object, I repeat, monsieur?" asked Ninon, glancing at the clock and yawning without disguise. "I come to give you the choice of three gifts; firstly, the highest honours in France; secondly, splendid wealth; and thirdly, eternal beauty. The world does not possess another being who could make you the same offers as I." "You are either a quack or a fool," said Ninon, imperiously, as she laid her hand on the bell to summon Guillot; but again the great eyes of the quaint old man daunted her. "Choose," said he, emphatically; "I have no time for trifling; rank, wealth, or a beauty that shall endure without change for four score years at least." "Then give me the latter--eternal beauty, that I may have lovers and adorers for ever," said Ninon, laughing; "but pray, my dear old man, how is such a gift to be acquired?" "By yourself, mademoiselle; it is very simple. Write your name with your own lovely hand, in this book; swear to me secrecy for life, and the thing is done." He bowed, and advancing, laid before her a very handsome pocket-book, bound in scarlet, and richly gilt. Ninon, heedless of the matter, and neither believing in, nor caring for his assumed powers, laughingly gave the promise he required, and wrote her name in his tablets, which he instantly closed, and consigned to his deep breeches pocket.