e-franc piece down on the table.

But before her visitors had quite groped their way to the end of the
short, steep staircase, they heard a cry.

"Mesdames!" then after a moment's pause, "Mesdames, I implore you to come
back!"

They looked at one another, and then Anna, putting her finger to her
lips, went back up the stairs, alone.

"Well," she said, briefly, "I knew you had something to tell me. What is
it?"

"No," said Madame Cagliostra dully. "I must have the other lady here,
too. You must both be present to hear what I have to say."

Anna went to the door and called out, "Come up Sylvia! She wants to see
us both together."

There was a thrill of excitement, of eager expectancy in Madame Wolsky's
voice; and Sylvia, surprised, ran up again into the little room, now full
of light, sun, and air.

"Stand side by side," ordered the soothsayer shortly. She stared at them
for a moment, and then she said with extreme earnestness:--

"I dare not let you go away without giving you a warning. Your two fates
are closely intertwined. Do not leave Paris for awhile, especially do not
leave Paris together. I see you both running into terrible danger! If you
do go away--and I greatly fear that you will do so--then I advise you,
together and separately, to return to Paris as soon as possible."

"One question I must ask of you," said Anna Wolsky urgently. "How goes my
luck? You know what I mean? I play!"

"It is not your luck that is threatened," replied the fortune-teller,
solemnly; "on the contrary, I see wonderful luck; packets of bank-notes
and rouleaux of gold! It is not your luck--it is something far, far more
important that is in peril. Something which means far more to you even
than your luck!"

The Polish woman smiled rather sadly.

"I wonder what that can be?" she exclaimed.

"It is your life!"

"My life?" echoed Anna. "I do not know that I value my life as much as
you think I do."

"The English have a proverb, Madame, which says: 'A short life and a
merry one.'"

"Can you predict that I shall have, if a short life, then a merry one?"

"Yes," said Madame Cagliostra, "that I 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 a