He crossed his arms over the silver sun that covered his hairy breast, but he made no reply.
I continued, “I would gladly know what you prophesy with regard to my future, but your worthy comrades have taken my watch and my purse, and I suppose you will not give me a specimen of your skill for nothing?”
He advanced quickly to me, and muttered hoarsely in my ear—
“You deceive yourself, let me see your hand.”
I gave it, looking fixedly at him; his eyes sparkled as he bent over my hand.
“If the line of life,” said he, “is cut by two transverse lines, it is the sign of immediate death, your life will be a short one. If the line of health is not in the centre of the hand, and if there is only the line of life, and the line of fortune united so as to form an angle, a natural death cannot be looked for. Do not, therefore, look for a natural death! If the bottom of the forefinger has a long line cutting it, a violent death will be the result. Prepare yourself for a violent death!”
There was a ring of pleasure in his sepulchral voice as he thus announced my death, but I listened to him with contempt and indifference.
“Sorcerer,” said I, with a disdainful smile, “you are skilful, for you are speaking of a certainty.”
Once more he came closer to me.
“You doubt my science,” cried he; “listen, then, once more. The severance of the line of the sun on your forehead shows me that you take an enemy for a friend, and a friend for an enemy.”