The Chink in the Armour | Page 9

can promise you." But there
was no smile on her pale face. "And more, I can predict--if you will
only follow my advice, if you do not leave Paris for, say"--she hesitated
a moment, as if making a silent calculation--"twelve weeks, I can
predict you, if not so happy a life, then a long life and a fairly merry
one. Will you take my advice, Madame?" she went on, almost
threateningly. "Believe me, I do not often offer advice to my clients. It
is not my business to do so. But I should have been a wicked woman
had I not done so this time. That is why I called you back."
"Is it because of something you have seen in the cards that you tender
us this advice?" asked Anna curiously.
But Madame Cagliostra again looked strangely frightened.
"No, no!" she said hastily. "I repeat that the cards told me nothing. The
cards were a blank. I could see nothing in them. But, of course, we do
not only tell fortunes by cards"--she spoke very quickly and rather
confusedly. "There is such a thing as a premonition."
She waited a moment, and then, in a business-like tone, added, "And
now I leave the question of the fee to the generosity of these ladies!"
Madame Wolsky smiled a little grimly, and pulled out a twenty-franc
piece.
The woman bowed, and murmured her thanks.
When they were out again into the roughly paved little street, Anna
suddenly began to laugh.

"Now, isn't that a typical Frenchwoman? She really did feel ill, she
really saw nothing in my cards, and, being an honest woman, she did
not feel that she could ask us to pay! Then, when we had gone away,
leaving only five francs, her thrift got the better of her honesty; she felt
she had thrown away ten good francs! She therefore called us back, and
gave us what she took to be very excellent advice. You see, I had told
her that I am a gambler. She knows, as we all know, that to play for
money is a foolish thing to do. She is aware that in Paris it is not very
easy for a stranger to obtain admittance--especially if that stranger be a
respectable woman--to a gambling club. She therefore said to herself, 'I
will give this lady far more than ten francs' worth of advice. I will tell
her not to go away! As long as she remains in Paris she cannot lose her
money. If she goes to Dieppe, Trouville, any place where there is a
Casino, she will lose her money. Therefore I am giving her invaluable
advice--worth far more than the ten francs which she ought to be made
to give me, and which she shall be made to give me!'"
"I suppose you are right," said Sylvia thoughtfully. "And yet--and
yet--she certainly spoke very seriously, did she not, Anna? She seemed
quite honestly--in fact, terribly afraid that we should go away together."
"But there is no idea of our going away together," said Madame
Wolsky, rather crossly. "I only wish there were! You are going on to
Switzerland to join your friends, and as for me, in spite of Madame
Cagliostra's mysterious predictions, I shall, of course, go to some
place--I think it will be Dieppe (I like the Dieppe Casino the
best)--where I can play. And the memory of you, my dear little English
friend, will be my mascot. You heard her say that I should be
fortunate--that I should have an extraordinary run of good fortune?"
"Yes," said Sylvia, "but do not forget"--she spoke with a certain gravity;
death was a very real thing to her, for she had seen in the last two years
two deathbeds, that of her father, that of her husband--"do not forget,
Anna, that she told you you would not live long if you went away."
"She was quite safe in saying that to me," replied the other hastily.
"People who play--those who get the gambling fever into their system
when they are still young--do not, as a rule, live very long. Their

emotions are too strong, too often excited! Play should be reserved for
the old--the old get so quickly deadened, they do not go through the
terrible moments younger people do!"
CHAPTER III
On the morning after her visit to Madame Cagliostra, Sylvia Bailey
woke later than usual. She had had a disturbed night, and it was
pleasant to feel that she could spend a long restful day doing nothing,
or only taking part in one of the gay little expeditions which make Paris
to a stranger the most delightful of European capitals.
She opened wide both the windows of her room, and from outside there
floated in a busy, happy murmur, for Paris is