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.
Then ensued the long drive home. The air was chill but exhilarating, and we sung and told ghost stories, and were astonished, when at last we dashed through a white gate, to find ourselves at home once more. It was ten o'clock the next morning before we were all assembled at the breakfast-table, and we had scarcely risen from our last cups of coffee, when a couple of friends arrived upon the slow Sunday train. How we were now to amuse ourselves was the question for the proximity of a church compelled very quiet demeanor. Finally we had a brilliant idea: the stone barn which had been filled only a few days previous with fresh, sweet hay, would be just the place to spend the morning. Accordingly we walked up there, pausing, however, on the way for a row on the pond in our pretty blue boat, and then ensued two charming hours. We mounted the hay-loft, and nestled down in the soft mounds (to the detriment of our black dresses, by the way, for upon emerging we were covered with burrs and straws), and being far from reproving ears we sung both sacred and secular music, and laughed at a droll impersonation, of Fechter's Claude—
"Ah! false one,
It is ze Prince zow lovest, not ze man," etc.,
and an equally comic burlesque upon Forrest, and were very sorry to learn that the carriages were waiting to take us to Lake Wampas.
[Illustration: The Stone Barn.]
"A new lake?" inquired a friend who had already accompanied us to Rye and Croton Lakes; "pray how many does Westchester County possess?"
Each new one is of course the prettiest, and beautiful as Rye Lake had been the previous night under the influence of the setting sun, and starlight, we all decided that Lake Wampas was simply perfect.
Dinner was ready upon our return, and before the dessert was placed upon the table a warning whistle was heard, and several of our friends were obliged to bid us a hasty adieu, and rush through Bischoff's garden to catch the train.