these pearls, if
genuine, were of such great value!

At first she had not believed them to be real, then gradually she had
become convinced of Sylvia's good faith. If the pearls were false, Sylvia
did not know it.

But Madame Cagliostra's answer was disappointing--or prudent.

"I cannot tell you that," she said. "I cannot even tell you of what the
necklace is composed. It may be of gold, of silver, of diamonds, of
pearls--it may be, I'm inclined to think it is, composed of Egyptian
scarabei. They, as you know, often bring terrible ill-fortune in their
train, especially when they have been taken from the bodies of mummies.
But the necklace has already caused this lady to quarrel with a very good
and sure friend of hers--of that I am sure. And, as I tell you, I see in
the future that this necklace may cause her very serious trouble--indeed,
I see it wound like a serpent round her neck, pressing ever tighter and
tighter--"

She suddenly began shuffling the cards. "And now," she said in a tone of
relief, "I will deal with you, Madame," and she turned to Anna with a
smile.

Sylvia drew her chair a little away from the table.

She felt depressed and uncomfortable. What an odd queer kind of fortune
had been told her! And then it had all been so muddled. She could
scarcely remember what it was that _had_ been told her.

Two things, however, remained very clear in her mind: The one was the
absurd prediction that she might never go back to her own country; the
second was all that extraordinary talk about her pearls. As to the
promised lover, the memory of the soothsayer's words made her feel very
angry. No doubt Frenchwomen liked that sort of innuendo, but it only
disgusted her.

Yet it was really very strange that Madame Cagliostra had known, or
rather had divined, that she possessed a necklace by which she laid great
store. But wasn't there such a thing as telepathy? Isn't it supposed by
some people that fortune-tellers simply see into the minds of those who
come to them, and then arrange what they see there according to their
fancy?

That, of course, would entirely account for all that the fortune-teller
had said about her pearls.

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, quit