half put out her hand, thinking that after all it was only a part
of the games of the night--the little amusements with which purses
were filled for charity; then some sudden after thought made her draw
it back.

"You fear the decision?" he asked.

She did not fear the decision he meant, but she did fear--

"No, Monsieur, I am not afraid. Oh, yes; she may read my palm, it is
all a jest, of course."

The Egyptian held the man's hand at which she had not yet glanced. She
took the hand of the Marquise.

"Pardon, Madame, it is no jest, it is a science," she said briefly,
and holding their hands, glanced from one to the other.

"Firm hands, strong hands, both," she said, and then bent over that of
the Marquise; as she did so the expression of casual interest faded
from her face; she slowly lifted her head and met the gaze of the
owner.

"Well, well? Am I to commit murders?" she asked; but her smile was an
uneasy one; the gaze of the Egyptian made her shrink.

"Not with your own hand," said the woman, slowly studying the
well-marked palm; "but you will live for awhile surrounded by death
and danger. You will hate, and suffer for the hate you feel. You will
love, and die for the love you will not take--you--"

But the Marquise drew her hand away petulantly.

"Oh! I am to die of love, then?--I!" and her light laugh was
disdainful. "That is quite enough of the fates for one evening;" she
regarded the pink palm doubtfully. "See, Monsieur, it does not look so
terrible; yet it contains all those horrors."

"Naturally it would not contain them," said the Egyptian. "You will
force yourself to meet what you call the horrors. You will sacrifice
yourself. You will meet the worst as the women of '93 ascended the
guillotine--laughing."

"Ah, what pictures! Monsieur, I wish you a better fortune."

"Than to die of love?" he asked, and met her eyes; "that were easier
than to live without it."

"Chut!--you speak like the cavalier of a romance."

"I feel like one," he confessed, "and it rests on your mercy whether
the romance has a happy ending."

She flashed one admonishing glance at him and towards the woman who
bent over his hand.

"Oh, she does not comprehend the English," he assured her; "and if she
does she will only hear the echo of what she reads in my hand."

"Proceed," said the Marquise to the Egyptian, "we wait to hear the
list of Monsieur's romances."

"You will live by the sword, but not die by the sword,"