“You may believe it, my lady. You will soon see it.”
“How do you know it?”
“By my art,” answered the gipsy.
And then she turned to General Lyon and said, coaxingly:
“Ah! kind, handsome gentleman, you will cross the poor gipsy’s hand with a little silver to help her, poor thing, and she will tell you such a good fortune!”
“My fortune is all told these many years past, good woman,” said the General, with a sigh that did not escape the gipsy’s keen eyes.
“Ah! don’t say so, good, dear gentleman. You have many long and happy years of life to live yet.”
“I am an old man, gipsy; I have lived out my life.”
“Ah no, noble gentleman, not so. You are in your prime. Ah me! with your grand form and handsome face, you could make many a sweet, pretty lady’s heart ache yet if you chose; yes, that you could.”
“Come, come, my good woman, that is going a little too far,” laughed the General, not displeased. What old gentleman ever is with a little flattery?