“What are we to do now!” inquired one restless being, as we walked down to the beach, leaving Bernard to consume the debris of the feast and collect the dishes.

“I think this fire so comfortable,” said one of the young ladies, “that I mean to remain beside it, as it is now dark and rather chill.”

“Let us play whist by the firelight,” was suggested by those who had not been out in the boat.

“Or, better still, have our fortunes told by its light,” said Ida, throwing a couple of branches upon the burning coals.

“Delightful!” exclaimed Marguerite.  “I have not forgotten that we have among us a Gypsy Queen, whose predictions are always realized;” turning to a pretty blonde, whose delicate features and sunny curls testified that she was only a gypsy through her talent for unveiling the future to her friends.

The rugs were accordingly spread out upon the beach, and we gathered about the fire whilst the cards were being shuffled and cut for the past, present, and future.  A weird sight it was, and one that the great Rembrandt would have delighted to paint:  a background of dark, silent trees, before us the motionless lake, illumined by the silver crescent then setting, while the faint glimmer of starlight, and the fiery glow of the burning wood, lit up the face of our young seeress, as with a puzzled brow, but a pretty air of faith, she bent over the talismanic cards.

In turn our fortunes were all told, and not a little wonder was excited when some hidden page of the past, as a former engagement, or a never-mentioned marriage, was disclosed.

One young man was told that he would live happily, but always be poor—­a destiny that he received with a droll air of resignation and philosophy; while another was warned to beware of a blonde enemy, causing him to recoil with a look of mock terror from the fair-haired Philippe Hubert who sat beside him.

An elegant young Englishman was alternately inspirited and depressed, by hearing that an uncle in India was about to leave him a legacy, and that a tailor’s bill of many years’ standing was now upon its way to him, whilst for all the young ladies a brilliant future was predicted.

My fortune was, however, quite mysterious.  I was told to beware of a male enemy, and two rivals, a blonde and a brunette, and was in imminent danger of poison.  I was soon to be engaged to a poor man, but was to marry a millionnaire, who would leave me a widow at the end of five years’ time.  Whether I was then to

  “—­marry my own love,”

the oracle did not disclose.