“With all my heart,” said I, laughing. “Are you skilful as a necromancer?”
“I can at least decipher what the cards indicate,” said he. “There is no great skill in reading, where the print is legible.” With these words, he shuffled the cards, dividing them into two or three packets; the first card of each he turned on the face. “Let me premise, Count,” said he, “before I begin, that you will not take anything in bad part which I may reveal to you, otherwise I'll be silent. You are free to believe, or not to believe, what I tell you; but you cannot reasonably be angry if unpleasant discoveries await you.”
“Go on fearlessly,” said I; “I'll not promise implicit faith in everything, but I 'll pledge myself to keep my temper.”
He began at once drawing forth every third card of each heap, and disposing them in a circle, side by side. When they were so arranged, he bent over, as if to study them, concealing his eyes from me by his hand; but at the same time, as I could perceive, keenly watching my face between his fingers. “There is some great mistake here,” said he at length, in a voice of irritation. “I have drawn the cards wrong, somehow; it must be so, since the interpretation is clear as print. What an absurd blunder, too!” and he seemed as if about to dash the cards up in a heap, from a sense of angry disappointment.
“Nay, nay,” cried I, interposing. “Let us hear what they say, even though we may dispute the testimony.”
“If it were less ridiculous it might be offensive,” said he, smiling; “but being as it is, it is really good laughing-matter.”
“I am quite impatient,—pray read on.”
“Of course it is too absurd for anything but ridicule,” said he, smiling, but, as I thought, with a most malicious expression. “You perceive here this four of clubs, which, as the first card we turn, assumes to indicate your commencement in life. Now, only fancy, Monsieur le Comte, what this most insolent little demon would insinuate. Really, I cannot continue. Well, well, be it so. This card would say that you were not only born without rank or title, but actually in a condition of the very meanest and most humble poverty. Isn't that excellent?” said he, bursting out into a fit of immoderate laughter, in which the spiteful glance of his keen eyes seemed to pierce through and through me.
As for me, I laughed too; but what a laugh it was! Never was a burst of natural sorrow so poignant in suffering as that forced laugh, when, covered with shame, I sat there, beneath the sarcastic insolence of the wretch, who seemed to gloat over the tortures he was inflicting.
“I can scarcely expect that this opening will inspire you with much confidence in the oracle,” said he; “the first step a falsehood, promises ill for the remainder of the journey.”