the taper lighted a cheap print of St. Joseph and a brazen
crucifix. The human element in the room was furnished by a
little, wizened yellow woman, who, black-robed, turbaned, and
stern, sat before an uncertain table whereon were greasy cards.

Manuela paused, her eyes blinking at the semi-obscurity within.
The Wizened One called in croaking tones:

"An' fo' w'y you come here? Assiez-la, ma'amzelle."

Timidly Manuela sat at the table facing the owner of the voice.

"I want," she began faintly; but the Mistress of the Cards
understood: she had had much experience. The cards were shuffled
in her long grimy talons and stacked before Manuela.

"Now you cut dem in t'ree part, so--un, deux, trois, bien! You
mek' you' weesh wid all you' heart, bien! Yaas, I see, I see!"

Breathlessly did Manuela learn that her lover was true, but "dat
light gal, yaas, she mek' nouvena in St. Rocque fo' hees love."

"I give you one lil' charm, yaas," said the Wizened One when the
seance was over, and Manuela, all white and nervous, leaned back
in the rickety chair. "I give you one lil' charm fo' to ween him
back, yaas. You wear h'it 'roun' you' wais', an' he come back.
Den you mek prayer at St. Rocque an' burn can'le. Den you come
back an' tell me, yaas. Cinquante sous, ma'amzelle. Merci.
Good luck go wid you."