Paris, May 1920
A little bird had landed on the far edge of the table. Clearly, it was used to people and was on the lookout for biscuit crumbs and the like.
Rose became very still, holding her book on her lap, giving the little creature a chance to explore the surface of the table. The bird eyed her curiously, pecked at crumbs on the table, then flew away to a nearby tree.
Rose took a sip of her morning coffee before returning to her book.
It was The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt, volume three, translated by Arthur Machen, the author of the book The Great God Pan, and member of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.
On first reading, there had been a number of passages that had caught Rose’s interest. She reviewed them now. All involved Casanova’s experiences with a man known as Le Comte de Saint-Germain.
The most enjoyable dinner I had was with Madame de Gergi, who came with the famous adventurer, known by the name of the Count de St. Germain. This individual, instead of eating, talked from the beginning of the meal to the end, and I followed his example in one respect as I did not eat, but listened to him with the greatest attention. It may safely be said that as a conversationalist he was unequalled.
Further down the page,
This extraordinary man, intended by nature to be the king of impostors and quacks, would say in an easy, assured manner that he was three hundred years old, that he knew the secret of the Universal Medicine, that he possessed a mastery over nature, that he could melt diamonds, professing himself capable of forming, out of ten or twelve small diamonds, one large one of the finest water without any loss of weight. All this, he said, was a mere trifle to him. Notwithstanding his boastings, his bare-faced lies, and his manifold eccentricities, I cannot say I thought him offensive.
And later,
St. Germain often dined with the best society in the capital, but he never ate anything, saying that he was kept alive by mysterious food known only to himself. One soon got used to his eccentricities, but not to his wonderful flow of words which made him the soul of whatever company he was in.
Rose noted several characteristics of the Count. He did not eat in public. He was a charming conversationalist. He claimed to have mastered life extension.
Casanova considered St. Germain to be a fraud. As Casanova was himself quite a rogue, perhaps he recognized the markings of a fellow swindler. Rose wondered what really happened to those ten or twelve small diamonds.
She took a bite from her croissant. These were curious observations, nevertheless. She reflected, there may be some benefit in a close examination of Le Comte de Saint-Germain.