Truxton King, scarcely able to believe his good fortune, crowded into the loathsome, squalid room with his aristocratic companions, managing, with considerable skill, to keep close beside his charming friend. They stood back while the others crowded up to the table where the hag occupied herself with the crystal ball.
Never had Truxton looked upon a creature who so thoroughly vindicated the life-long reliance he had put in the description of witches given by the fairy-tale tellers of his earliest youth. She had the traditional hook-nose and peaked chin, the glittering eyes, the thousand wrinkles and the toothless gums. He looked about for the raven and the cat, but if she had them, they were not in evidence. At a rough guess, he calculated her age at one hundred years. A youth of extreme laziness, who Baron Dangloss said was the old woman's grandson, appeared to be her man-of-all-work. He fetched the old woman's crystal, placed stools for the visitors, lighted the candles on the table, occupying no less than a quarter of an hour in performing these simple acts, so awkward that at least two of his observers giggled openly and whispered their opinions.
"Gruesome lady, isn't she?" whispered King.
"I shall dream of her for months," whispered the lady in grey, shuddering.
"Are you willing to have her read your future in that ball?"
"Do you really think she can tell?"
"I once had a fortune-teller say that I would be married before I was twenty-three," he informed her. She appeared interested.
"And were you?"
"No. But she did her part, you know—the fortune-teller, I mean."
"She warned you. I see. So it really wasn't her fault." She was watching the preparations at the table with eager eyes, her lips parted and her breath coming quick through excitement.