’I, my daughter?  An old man’s fortune is in his children.  What have I to ask?’

‘I—­I scarcely like to be the first!’ said the lady, eager but hesitating.  ‘Veronique, you would have your fortune told?’

‘I will be the first,’ said Philip, stepping forward manfully.  ’I will prove him for you, lady, and tell you whether he be a cozener or not, or if his magic be fit for you to deal with.’

And confident in the inherent intuition of a plain Englishman, as well as satisfied to exercise his resolution for once in opposition to Berenger’s opinion, Master Thistlewood stepped towards the closet where the Italian awaited his clients, and Berenger knew that it would be worse than useless to endeavour to withhold him.  He only chafed at the smile which passed between father and daughter at this doughty self-assertion.

There was a long silence.  Berenger sat with his eyes fixed on the window where the twilight horizon was still soft and bright with the pearly gold of the late sunset, thinking with an intensity of yearning what it would be could he truly become certain of Eustacie’s present doings; questioning whether he would try to satisfy that longing by the doubtful auguries of the diviner, and then recollecting how he had heard from wrecked sailors that to seek to delude their thirst with sea-water did but aggravate their misery.  He knew that whatever he might hear would be unworthy of confidence.  Either it merely framed to soothe and please him—­or, were it a genuine oracle, he had no faith in the instinct that was to perceive it, but what he HAD faith in was the Divine protection over his lost ones.  ‘No,’ he thought to himself, ’I will not by a presumptuous sin, in my own impatience, risk incurring woes on them that deal with familiar spirits and wizards that peep and mutter.  If ever I am to hear of Eustacie again, it shall be by God’s will, not the devil’s.’

Diane de Selinville had been watching his face all the time, and now said, with that almost timid air of gaiety that she wore when addressing him:  ’You too, cousin, are awaiting Monsieur Philippe’s report to decide whether to look into the pool of mystery.’

‘Not at all, Madame,’ said Berenger, gravely.  ’I do not understand white magic.’

’Our good cousin has been too well bred among the Reformers to condescend to our little wickednesses, daughter,’ said the Chevalier; and the sneer-much like that which would await a person now who scrupled at joining in table-turning or any form of spiritualism—­purpled Berenger’s scar, now his only manner of blushing; but he instantly perceived that it was the Chevalier’s desire that he should consult the conjurer, and therefore became the more resolved against running into a trap.

‘I am sure,’ said Madame de Selinville, earnestly, though with an affectation of lightness, ’a little wickedness is fair when there is a great deal at stake.  For my part, I would not hesitate long, to find out how soon the King will relent towards my fair cousin here!’