"My fortune?"
"Of course: I shall read the cards for you: you know
"'A gypsy woman was my mother,
Taught me to read the cards of fortune,
In that surpassing many wishes.'"
"Very well, my dear Czipra: then tell me my fortune."
Czipra was delighted to be able to see Lorand once more alone in her strange room. She made him sit down on the velvet camp-stool, took her place on the tiger-skin and drew her cards from her pocket. For two years she had always had them by her. They were her sole counsellors, friends, science, faith, worship—the sooth-saying cards.
A person, especially a woman, must believe something!
At first she shuffled the cards, then, placing them on her hand offered them to Lorand.
"Here they are, cut them: the one, whose future is being told, must cut. Not with the left hand, that is not good. With the right hand, towards you."
Lorand did so, to please her.
Czipra piled the cards in packs before her.