"Don't do that," she interrupted. "Wait till the evening and you shall throw the cards. What's the good of anticipating trouble? If the cards are unfavorable to any immediate enterprise, settle down and help me with the garden until they're favorable again. When favorable, make the journey."
Sylvia, however, insisted on anticipating the opinion of the cards and explained to Mère Gontran that it would be impossible for her to attempt any work for at least another six weeks on account of her weakness, and also because of her short hair, which, though it was growing rapidly with close, chestnut curls, was still remarkably short.
Mère Gontran asked what day it had been cut, and Sylvia said she did not know, because it had been cut when she was unconscious.
"Depend upon it they cut it when the moon was waning."
"I hope not," said Sylvia.
"I hope not, too. I sincerely hope not," said Mère Gontran, fervently.
"It would be serious?" Sylvia suggested.
"Anything might happen. Anything!"
Mère Gontran's vivid blue eyes fixed a far horizon lowering with misfortune, and Sylvia took the opportunity of her temporary abstraction to go on with the tale of present woes.
"Money?" Mère Gontran exclaimed. "Put it in your pocket. You were overcharged all the weeks you were with me when you were well. Deducting overcharges, I can give you six weeks' board and lodging now."