Here the landlord entered; and the Sicilian handed him over the money. “He is a rascal notwithstanding,” whispered the Englishman to me. “He refuses the money because at present his designs are chiefly on the prince.” “Whom do you wish to see?” asked the sorcerer. The prince considered for a moment. “We may as well have a great man at once,” said the Englishman. “Ask for Pope Ganganelli. It can make no difference to this gentleman.” The Sicilian bit his lips. “I dare not call one of the Lord’s anointed.” “That is a pity!” replied the English lord; “perhaps we might have heard from him what disorder he died of.” “The Marquis de Lanoy,” began the prince, “was a French brigadier in the late war, and my most intimate friend. Having received a mortal wound in the battle of Hastinbeck, he was carried to my tent, where he soon after died in my arms. In his last agony he made a sign for me to approach. ‘Prince,’ said he to me, ‘I shall never again behold my native land. I must, therefore, acquaint you with a secret known to none but myself. In a convent on the frontiers of Flanders lives a --------’ He expired. Death cut short the thread of his discourse. I wish to see my friend to hear the remainder.” “You ask much,” exclaimed the Englishman, with an oath. “I proclaim you the greatest sorcerer on earth if you can solve this problem,” continued he, turning to the Sicilian. We admired the wise choice of the prince, and unanimously gave our approval to the proposition. In the meantime the sorcerer paced up and down the room with hasty steps, apparently struggling with himself. “This was all that the dying marquis communicated to you?” “It is all.” “Did you make no further inquiries about the matter in his native country?” “I did, but they all proved fruitless.” “Had the Marquis de Lanoy led an irreproachable life? I dare not call up every shade indiscriminately.” “He died, repenting the excesses of his youth.” “Do you carry with you any token of his!” “I do.” (The prince had really a snuff-box with the marquis’ portrait enamelled in miniature on the lid, which he had placed upon the table near his plate during the time of supper.) “I do not want to know what it is. If you will leave me you shall see the deceased.” He requested us to wait in the other pavilion until he should call us. At the same time he caused all the furniture to be removed from the room, the windows to be taken out, and the shutters to be bolted. He ordered the innkeeper, with whom he appeared to be intimately connected, to bring a vessel with burning coals, and carefully to extinguish every fire in the house. Previous to our leaving the room he obliged us separately to pledge our honor that we would maintain an everlasting silence respecting everything we should see and hear. All the doors of the pavilion we were in were bolted behind us when we left it.