Sylvia always felt a little uncomfortable when her pearls were not lying
round her pretty neck. The first time she had left them in the hotel
bureau, at her new friend's request, was when they had been together to
some place of amusement at night, and she had felt quite miserable, quite
lost without them. She had even caught herself wondering whether M.
Girard was perfectly honest, whether she could trust him not to have her
dear pearls changed by some clever jeweller, though, to be sure, she felt
she would have known her string of pearls anywhere!

* * * * *

But what was this that was going on between the other two?

Madame Cagliostra dealt out the pack of cards in a slow, deliberate
fashion--and then she uttered a kind of low hoarse cry, and mixed the
cards all together, hurriedly.

Getting up from the table, she exclaimed, "I regret, Madame, that I can
tell you nothing--nothing at all! I feel ill--very ill!" and, indeed, she
had turned, even to Sylvia's young and unobservant eyes, terribly pale.

For some moments the soothsayer stood staring into Anna Wolsky's
astonished face.

"I know I've disappointed you, Mesdames, but I hope this will not prevent
your telling your friends of my powers. Allow me to assure you that it is
not often that I am taken in this way!"

Her voice had dropped to a whisper. She was now gazing down at the pack
of cards which lay on the table with a look of horror and oppression on