"How? Oh tell me!"
"He will make you a Queen."
—A woman, she came with her mother and sister to France. It befell one day that they were invited to an official dinner at Cognac. Among the guests was an old Abbot, skilled in reading ladies' hands (and hearts); one who, though he honestly believed in his art, took care that it inspired him with none but pleasing prognostications. When came the young Eugenie's turn to hold out her hand, the old man started back, half in amazement, half in fear. The guests who were watching started too, since they knew him for a sophisticated worldling, immune from all surprise.
"What is it?" cried Eugenie.
"Señora—I see in your hand—"
"What then, Abbot? Quick, tell me."
"A—crown."
(Now the great Duke of Ossuna, Grandee of Spain, His Most Catholic Majesty's Ambassador to the French Republic, was rumoured to have longings, to nourish intentions.... It would be a magnificent marriage for her, friends said.)
"A Duchess' crown?" she cried.
"No. One more brilliant and resplendent."