But what was this that was going on between the other two? Madame Cagliostra dealt out the pack of cards in a slow, deliberate fashion--and then she uttered a kind of low hoarse cry, and mixed the cards all together, hurriedly. Getting up from the table, she exclaimed, "I regret, Madame, that I can tell you nothing--nothing at all! I feel ill--very ill!" and, indeed, she had turned, even to Sylvia's young and unobservant eyes, terribly pale. For some moments the soothsayer stood staring into Anna Wolsky's astonished face. "I know I've disappointed you, Mesdames, but I hope this will not prevent your telling your friends of my powers. Allow me to assure you that it is not often that I am taken in this way!" Her voice had dropped to a whisper. She was now gazing down at the pack of cards which lay on the table with a look of horror and oppression on her face. "I will only charge five francs," she muttered at last, "for I know that I have not satisfied you." Sylvia sprang to the window. She tore apart the curtains and pulled up the sash. "No wonder the poor woman feels faint," she said quickly. "It's absurd to sit with a window tight shut in this kind of room, which is little more than a box with three people in it!" Madame Cagliostra had sunk down into her chair again. "I must beg you to go away, Mesdames," she muttered, faintly. "Five francs is all I ask of you." But Anna Wolsky was behaving in what appeared to Sylvia a very strange manner. She walked round to where the fortune-teller was sitting. "You saw something in the cards which you do not wish to tell me?" she said imperiously. "I do not mind being told the truth. I am not a child." "I swear I saw nothing!" cried the Frenchwoman angrily. "I am too ill to see anything. The cards were to me perfectly blank!" In the bright sunlight now pouring into the little room the soothsayer looked ghastly, her skin had turned a greenish white. "Mesdames, I beg you to excuse me," she said again. "If you do not wish to give me the five francs, I will not exact any fee." She pointed with a shaking finger to the door, and Sylvia put a five-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.