At the same time, Mademoiselle Lenormand signed to the ladies in the first salon to pass into the second room, where she told fortunes.
Madame Tallien and Madame de Beauharnais began to examine the room in which they had been left. Its principal ornaments were two portraits, one of Louis XVI. and the other of Marie-Antoinette. Notwithstanding the terrible days that had passed, and the fact that the heads of the originals had fallen upon the scaffold, the portraits had not left their places, and had not for an instant ceased to be treated with the respect which Mademoiselle Lenormand entertained for the originals.
After the portraits, the most remarkable thing in the room was a long table covered with a cloth, upon which sparkled necklaces, rings, and pieces of silverware elegantly wrought; most of the last dating from the eighteenth century. All of these trinkets had been given to the sibyl by persons to whom she had doubtless made agreeable predictions which had been fulfilled.
The door of the cabinet opened shortly, and the last person who had arrived before the two ladies was called. The friends remained alone.
A quarter of an hour passed, during which they conversed in subdued tones, then the door opened again, and Mademoiselle Lenormand came out.
"Which of you ladies wishes to come in first?" she asked.
"Can we not go in together?" asked Madame de Beauharnais quickly.
"Impossible, madame," replied the sibyl; "I have sworn never to read the cards for one person in the presence of another."
"May we know why?" asked Madame Tallien, with her customary vivacity, and we may almost say her usual indiscretion.
"Because in a portrait which I had the misfortune to draw too near to life one of two ladies whom I was receiving recognized her husband."