“If you wished, yes. If not, no. You alone know,” said Djala.
“Besides, the bones prove nothing. It is a Greek game. I don’t believe in it. I shall try something else.”
She dried her tears and crossed the room. She took a box of white counters from a shelf, counted out twenty-two, then with the point of a pearl clasp, engraved in succession the twenty-two letters of the Hebrew alphabet. They were the arcana of the Cabbala she had learnt in Galilee.
“I have confidence in this. This does not deceive”, she said. “Lift up the skirt of your robe; I will use it as a bag.”
She cast the twenty-two counters into the slave’s tunic, repeating mentally:
“Shall I wear Aphrodite’s necklace? Shall I wear Aphrodite’s necklace? Shall I wear Aphrodite’s necklace?”
And she drew the tenth arcanam, and this signified plainly:
“Yes.”
An old white-bearded priest preceded the youthful band.