“Remember you have said I am fearless,” she said.
He answered:
“Whatever it is you shall know it.”
Then they were silent again. Gradually the Diviner’s voice grew clearer, the pace of its words less rapid, but always it sounded mysterious and inward, less like the voice of a man than the distant voice of a secret.
“I can hear now,” whispered the Count.
“What is he saying?”
“He is speaking about the desert.”
“Yes?”
“He sees a great storm. Wait a moment!”
The voice spoke for some seconds and ceased, and once again the Diviner remained absolutely motionless, with his hands extended above the grains like carven things.