“Ah, bless the dear blue eyes of him,” coaxed the fortune-teller, turning around and patting the man’s cheeks, “he’ll never make the poor old gipsy wife move on, now that she has come up to her luck—such luck, my darling. Only see what the grand, noble young gentleman has given the poor gipsy. When the race is over, come up to my tent, pet, and have a pot of porter and a plate of biled beef and carrots with his old mother,” she added, patting him on the cheek again and turning from him. “That’s the way, you see, sir—that’s always the way with Gentilly,” said the policeman, apologetically, to the old gentleman. “You know her?” inquired Dick. “Know Gentilly? Bless you, sir, everybody on the race-course knows Gentilly and her sister, Patience.” “And you know no harm of her, I dare say, although you are a police officer.” “Well, sir, beyond——” “Now, he is not going to tell lies on the old gipsy!—It will be three o’clock. Come up at my tent for the biled beef and carrots and the pot of porter,” said the fortune-teller, laying her hands upon the lips of the police officer. At that moment the two young men stepped up. Gentilly turned to them immediately. “Tell your fortune, sweet young gentlemen? Cross the poor gipsy’s hand with silver to tell your fortune.” “No, thank you,” laughed Spencer. “I have had my fortune told by members of your tribe at least ten times to-day.” “But here’s half a crown for you if you’ll only go away and not bother,” added Tredegar, dropping the coin into the gipsy’s hand. “Blessings on your handsome face, kind gentleman! Ah! I could tell you of a fair lady who is thinking of you,” coaxed Gentilly. “And thinking what a long-legged, lantern-jawed, lankhaired fright the Yankee boy is, no doubt. All right; you can tell me that another time; but go now and don’t bother.” “Yes, Gentilly, you really must move on,” added the policeman. And the fortune-teller, having gleaned all that she could from the company, did move on. And now an agitation like the movement of the wind upon the waves of the sea or the leaves of the forest swayed the vast multitude. “What’s the matter now?” inquired the General. “The horses—they are coming,” answered Spencer. “Is it the great race? Are they going to start?” “Not just yet. They are being brought out and walked around the course to be shown. Here they are!” exclaimed Tredegar. All in the barouche stood up, adjusted their field-glasses and levelled them at the race-course that encircled the field.