"He's teasing," Sullivan said.

"Mr. Foster wouldn't do such a thing," she observed, drawing herself
up, and I bowed.

A man with an eye-glass came and began to talk confidently in
Sullivan's ear, and Sullivan had to leave us.

"See you later," he smiled. "Keep him out of mischief, Marie. And I
say, Carl, the wife said I was to tell you particularly to go into
her crystal-gazing room. Don't forget."

"I'll go, too," Miss Deschamps said. "You may take me there now, if
you please. And then I must go down to where the champagne is flowing.
But not with you, not with you, Mr. Foster. There are other gentlemen
here very anxious for the post. Now come along."

We made our way out of the stir and noise of the grand salon, Marie
Deschamps leaning on my arm in the most friendly and confiding way in
the world, and presently we found ourselves in a much smaller
apartment crowded with whispering seekers after knowledge of the
future. This room was dimly lighted from the ceiling by a single
electric light, whose shade was a queer red Japanese lantern. At the
other end of it were double curtains. These opened just as we entered,
and Emmeline appeared, leading by the hand a man who was laughing
nervously.

"Your fortune, ladies and gentlemen, your fortune!" she cried
pleasantly. Then she recognized me, and her manner changed, or I