"She's sing'lar, like her mother afore her. But she's straight."

Gaston lit a cigar.

"Of course." He looked kindly at the girl. "You are a weird sort,
Andree, and perhaps you are right that I'm a Romany too; but I don't know
where it begins and where it ends. You are not English gipsies?" he
added, to the father.

"I lived in England when I was young. Her mother was a Breton--not a
Romany. We're on the way to France now. She wants to see where her
mother was born. She's got the Breton lingo, and she knows some English;
but she speaks French mostly."

"Well, well," rejoined Gaston, "take care of yourself, and good luck to
you. Good-bye--good-bye, Andree." He put his hand in his pocket to give
her some money, but changed his mind. Her eye stopped him. He shook
hands with the man, then turned to her again. Her eyes were on him--hot,
shining. He felt his blood throb, but he returned the look with good-
natured nonchalance, shook her hand, raised his hat, and walked away,
thinking what a fine, handsome creature she was. Presently he said:
"Poor girl, she'll look at some fellow like that one day, with tragedy
the end thereof!"

He then fell to wondering about her almost uncanny divination. He knew
that all his life he himself had had strange memories, as well as certain
peculiar powers which had put the honest phenomena and the trickery of
the Medicine Men in the shade. He had influenced people by the sheer
force of presence. As he walked on, he came to a group of trees in the