"Madame, the hand is up," said Vergilius. "I fear it is not
infallible."

"Let me see," she answered, stooping gravely to survey the coin.
Something passed between her and her pleasure, and for one second a
shadow wavered across her face.

"It is Death's hand, of course," she remarked, sadly. "Love is for the
young and death is for the old."

"Old, madame! Why, your cheeks have roses in them."

"Good youth, you are too frank," said she, with a quick glance about
her. "Did the coin say that she loved you?"

"It did."

"And what did she say?"

The young man hesitated.

"Come, you innocent! Of course, I knew that you would talk of nothing
but love. What said she?"

"That she does not love me; but I am sure it is mere coquetry."

"Dear youth! You have a cunning eye. This very day speak, my brave
Vergilius--speak to her brother Appius. To-night take him to dine with
you."