Madame Barto’s ideas of a parlormaid seemed rather confused, for her gloomy little brick house had no occupants save herself and Jessie, and before business hours in the morning she and Jessie did up all the household work, after which they separated, madame to sit in her dingy parlor and read detective stories in the intervals of waiting for customers, and Jessie to wait in a tiny anteroom off the hall to answer the doorbell. The first thing that morning madame had gone out and bought her maid a neat, black gown finished with black and white ribbons, at neck and waist, and a neat little pair of buttoned boots that made quite an improvement in her appearance. “This comes in advance out of your first month’s salary, and I think you will agree I am very generous to trust you,” she said frankly. “I am very grateful, madame,” faltered the girl shyly, for she stood greatly in awe of the tall, dark, homely fortune teller, with her stern face and grenadierlike walk. “See that you prove so,” the woman said dryly, adding, as she seized the girl’s hand and turned the pink palm to the light: “Let us see what fate has in store for such a pretty girl.” “Shall I ever be married?” queried Jessie timidly, and Madame Barto laughed: “Ha, ha, the first thought of a young girl--‘shall I ever be married?’ Yes, yes, pretty one. I can promise you a husband for certain! Girls like you--so lovely and naïve--are very sure to marry, for the men will not give them any peace. But you’ll repent it afterward if you’re like most women. I know, for marriage is a lottery, and more blanks are drawn than prizes.” “I am sorry. I thought love must be so sweet,” said the girl with a little, unconscious sigh. “Poor thing!” answered the woman, with a half sneer, her keen, deep-set eyes following the lines of the delicate palm while she pursued: “I see dark clouds lowering over your life--and the line of life is strangely crossed. I foresee tragic elements in your future. The chances of happiness are against you, but you may possibly overcome these adverse influences. Let us hope so. Otherwise----” she paused, looked keenly at the girl, and exclaimed: “You will not thank me if I tell you any more. What is the use, anyway? You will find it out soon enough yourself. These people who pay me a dollar for reading the future, what fools they are! If they wait they will know it for nothing!” Jessie hung her golden head in cruel disappointment, having hoped that a good fortune might have been promised from the reading of her little hand, while the madame continued briskly: “Come, now, you will sit here in the anteroom with this bit of sewing until the doorbell rings, then you will answer it, usher the caller in here, and come to me for instructions. Will you remember this?” “Oh, yes, madame,” sitting down obediently with the roll of ruffling madame had given her to hemstitch, eager to be alone with her sad thoughts.