Then she joined her hands together and spoke aloud though she was alone.
“Bacchis . . . Bacchis . . . he comes from her house and he does not know! The mirror is still there, then! . . . Demetrios has forgotten me . . . If he has hesitated the first day, I am lost, he will do nothing. But is it possible that all is finished? Bacchis has other mirrors which she uses more often. Doubtless she does not know yet. Gods! Gods! no means of having news, and perhaps . . . Ah! Djala! Djala!”
The slave-woman entered.
“Give me my knuckle-bones,” said Chrysis. “I want to tell my own fortune.”
She tossed the four little bones into the air.
“Oh . . . Oh . . . Djala, look! the Aphrodite throw!”
This was the name given to a very rare throw whereby all the knuckle-bones presented a different face. The odds against this combination were exactly thirty-five to one. It was the best throw in the game.
Djala remarked coldly:
“What did you ask for?”
“It is true,” said Chrysis, disappointed. “I forgot to wish. I certainly had something in my mind, but I said nothing. Does that count all the same?”