Milona withdrew the gold needle. The water, again restored to a state of calm, after having ceased turning around the sides of the crystal vase, first assumed a greyish tint, then turned to a dark colour. “Milo,” exclaimed Sophia, in dismay, “the water is black! It is a sign of mourning! Who is to die?” The servant, without replying, relit the candles, took the crystal vase and threw out of the window the water which had just been used for the experiment; then, in anger, she spat out into the night— “May he die who opposes you!” she said fiercely. “Fate announces love, happiness, and death. You have the privilege of not continuing the enterprise you have begun. The spotted cards say you will not succeed. The water predicts death! For whom? That we cannot learn. Stop, there is still time.” Sophia walked silently to and fro in the salon, then halted in front of Milona, who sat there, in pensive calm. “Do you believe in these predictions of yours?” “I do.” Sophia lit a cigarette. “What is the use of being superior in thought and courage, of a bold audacity that recognizes no obstacle, if one acts with the weak cowardice of an ordinary mortal? It is only in whatever is difficult, if not impossible, Milo, that there is any interest. How can one live like a common citizen when one possesses the soul of a sovereign of mankind? No! Cost what it may, one must follow one’s instinct, give evidence of one’s will. You know me, Milo; you know that I give way before no obstacle, once my resolution is taken. Why did you say to me just now, ‘Renounce what you are undertaking; there is still time?’” “And you,” said Milona, gravely, “since you are so firm in your plans, why do you consult cards, and ask the water to lay bare to you its secret?” Sophia smiled. “What you say is just. But, after all, little one, mortals are only human; that is to say, beings accessible to fear and superstition. Don’t you know that doctors—who, after all, are well aware how precarious and powerless is their art—call other doctors to their bedsides when they are ill? A concession to human frailty, Milo. Still, people do not think any the worse of them.” “And is all this in honour of the young man who has been coming here every day since the Agostini first brought him?” “The Agostini, as you disrespectfully call him, brought me this young man because I ordered him to do so. Do you not know that he obeys me without discussion?” “Oh, he will never discuss. But, some day or other, he may no longer obey.” “Poor Cesare is no favourite of yours,” said Sophia, gaily. “He is false, and a coward as well. If ever he tries to strike you, it will be in the back.” “But he loves me.” “And do you return his affection?” “Perhaps; though I am not very sure of it. Why do you call him a coward? You are well aware that he fought a duel at Palermo with the Marquis Belverani.”