Page:The Writings of Prosper Merimee-Volume 5.djvu/244

he showed her that she had spent half a million. He told her he had not his villages of the districts of Moscow and Saratef at his disposal in Paris, and finally ended by refusing point-blank to give her the amount she asked. You can perhaps imagine how furious my grandmother was—she struck him in the face and vowed she would never speak to him again. But the next morning she thought better of it and for the first time in her life, she actually brought herself to plead and argue with him. It was in vain that she told him that there were debts and debts, that one could not treat a prince like a tradesman; all her eloquence was thrown away on him, he was obdurate and would not give in. My grandmother was at a loss to know what to do, when she suddenly remembered that there was a very celebrated man to whom she might appeal. You have heard, no doubt, of the Count de St. Germain, of whom such wonderful tales are told. You know that he was a sort of Wandering Jew, the possessor of the elixir of life and the philosopher's stone. Some people made fun of him and called him a quack; Casanova in his memoirs calls him a spy. However, notwithstanding the mysterious life he led, Saint Germain was sought after by the very best people, and was certainly a charming man. To