Two things, however, remained very clear in her mind:  The one was the absurd prediction that she might never go back to her own country; the second was all that extraordinary talk about her pearls.  As to the promised lover, the memory of the soothsayer’s words made her feel very angry.  No doubt Frenchwomen liked that sort of innuendo, but it only disgusted her.

Yet it was really very strange that Madame Cagliostra had known, or rather had divined, that she possessed a necklace by which she laid great store.  But wasn’t there such a thing as telepathy?  Isn’t it supposed by some people that fortune-tellers simply see into the minds of those who come to them, and then arrange what they see there according to their fancy?

That, of course, would entirely account for all that the fortune-teller had said about her pearls.

Sylvia always felt a little uncomfortable when her pearls were not lying round her pretty neck.  The first time she had left them in the hotel bureau, at her new friend’s request, was when they had been together to some place of amusement at night, and she had felt quite miserable, quite lost without them.  She had even caught herself wondering whether M. Girard was perfectly honest, whether she could trust him not to have her dear pearls changed by some clever jeweller, though, to be sure, she felt she would have known her string of pearls anywhere!

* * * * *

But what was this that was going on between the other two?

Madame Cagliostra dealt out the pack of cards in a slow, deliberate fashion—­and then she uttered a kind of low hoarse cry, and mixed the cards all together, hurriedly.

Getting up from the table, she exclaimed, “I regret, Madame, that I can tell you nothing—­nothing at all!  I feel ill—­very ill!” and, indeed, she had turned, even to Sylvia’s young and unobservant eyes, terribly pale.

For some moments the soothsayer stood staring into Anna Wolsky’s astonished face.

“I know I’ve disappointed you, Mesdames, but I hope this will not prevent your telling your friends of my powers.  Allow me to assure you that it is not often that I am taken in this way!”

Her voice had dropped to a whisper.  She was now gazing down at the pack of cards which lay on the table with a look of horror and oppression on her face.

“I will only charge five francs,” she muttered at last, “for I know that I have not satisfied you.”

Sylvia sprang to the window.  She tore apart the curtains and pulled up the sash.

“No wonder the poor woman feels faint,” she said quickly.  “It’s absurd to sit with a window tight shut in this kind of room, which is little more than a box with three people in it!”

Madame Cagliostra had sunk down into her chair again.

“I must beg you to go away, Mesdames,” she muttered, faintly.  “Five francs is all I ask of you.”