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Alone one evening after curfew, she heard a loud knocking at the door of her house. Accustomed to receive visits at all hours, she took her lamp without hesitation, and opened the door. An armed man, apparently much agitated, entered the room. Louise Goillard, in a great fright, fell into a chair; this man was the Marquis de Saint-Maixent.

“Calm yourself, good woman,” said the stranger, panting and stammering; “be calm, I beg; for it is I, not you, who have any cause for emotion. I am not a brigand, and far from your having anything to fear, it is I, on the contrary, who am come to beg for your assistance.”

He threw his cloak into a corner, unbuckled his waistbelt, and laid aside his sword. Then falling into a chair, he said–

“First of all, let me rest a little.”

The marquis wore a travelling-dress; but although he had not stated his name, Louise Goillard saw at a glance that he was a very different person from what she had thought, and that, on the contrary, he was some fine gentleman who had come on his love affairs.

“I beg you to excuse,” said she, “a fear which is insulting to you. You came in so hurriedly that I had not time to see whom I was talking to. My house is rather lonely; I am alone; ill-disposed people might easily take advantage of these circumstances to plunder a poor woman who has little enough to lose. The times are so bad! You seem tired. Will you inhale some essence?”

“Give me only a glass of water.”

Louise Goillard went into the adjoining room, and returned with an ewer. The marquis affected to rinse his lips, and said–

“I come from a great distance on a most important matter. Be assured that I shall be properly grateful for your services.”

He felt in his pocket, and pulled out a purse, which he rolled between his fingers.

“In the first place; you must swear to the greatest secrecy.”

“There is no need of that with us,” said Louise Goillard; “that is the first condition of our craft.”

“I must have more express guarantees, and your oath that you will reveal to no one in the world what I am going to confide to you.”

“I give you my word, then, since you demand it; but I repeat that this is superfluous; you do not know me.”

“Consider that this is a most serious matter, that I am as it were placing my head in your hands, and that I would lose my life a thousand times rather than see this mystery unravelled.”

“Consider also,” bluntly replied the midwife, “that we ourselves are primarily interested in all the secrets entrusted to us; that an indiscretion would destroy all confidence in us, and that there are even cases—-You may speak.”

When the marquis had reassured her as to himself by this preface, he continued: “I know that you are a very able woman.”

“I could indeed wish to be one, to serve you.”

“That you have pushed the study of your art to its utmost limits.”

“I fear they have been flattering your humble servant.”

“And that your studies have enabled you to predict the future.”

“That is all nonsense.”

“It is true; I have been told so.”

“You have been imposed upon.”

“What is the use of denying it and refusing to do me a service?”

Louise Goillard defended herself long: she could not understand a man of this quality believing in fortune-telling, which she practised only with low-class people and rich farmers; but the marquis appeared so earnest that she knew not what to think.

“Listen,” said he, “it is no use dissembling with me, I know all. Be easy; we are playing a game in which you are laying one against a thousand; moreover, here is something on account to compensate you for the trouble I am giving.”

He laid a pile of gold on the table. The matron weakly owned that she had sometimes attempted astrological combinations which were not always fortunate, and that she had been only induced to do so by the fascination of the phenomena of science. The secret of her guilty practices was drawn from her at the very outset of her defence.