“One moment more, I pray you!” Madame’s tone was very earnest. “I read in these cards that there is one who calls himself your friend. He has dark and curly hair. He smiles. He dances. He is very much alive. But ah! He is a rascal! You must beware!”
“I shall beware. Thank you,” Danby said soberly.
“And now!” exclaimed Jeanne, springing to her feet, “Our cup of cheer!”
When their light repast was over, when Madame sat nodding by the fire that had burned low, Jeanne spoke to Danby Force in words of exceeding soberness. “You must not treat too lightly Madame’s forecast with the cards. Indeed you must not! She is old. She has told fortunes since she was a child. The rich and the very great, they have listened often to her fortunes. Truly they have.
“Once—” her voice dropped to a whisper. “Once she said to a man, a very great man who lived in a castle on a hill: ‘You shall die. In two months you will be dead.’ And in two months his heart stopped. He was dead, dead.”
For some time after that she sat staring at the fire. When she spoke again it was in a changed tone:
“But you, my friend, you did not have a bad fortune. Indeed not! There were troubles. They come to all. You will overcome them. There were those you must not trust. You will discover that they are traitors. In the end you shall have honor, perhaps much money, and always I am sure—” her voice dropped, “Always you shall have many, many friends.”
“Ah yes,” he whispered. “Please, dear little French girl, many friends!”
After that, for a long time, with the fire gleaming brightly before them and the murmur of the wild out-of-doors coming down the chimney to them, they sat reading their own fortunes in the flames.