"We have come to see Madame Cagliostra," said Sylvia timidly. She took
this stout, untidily-dressed woman for the fortune-teller's servant.
"Madame Cagliostra, at your service!" The woman turned round, her face
breaking into a broad smile. She evidently liked the sound of her
peculiar name.
They followed her up a dark staircase into a curious little sitting-room.
It was scrupulously clean, but about it hung the faint odour which the
French eloquently describe as "shut in," and even on this beautiful hot
day the windows were tightly closed.
On the red walls hung various drawings of hands, of hearts, and of heads,
and over the plain mantelpiece was a really fine pastel portrait of a
man, in eighteenth century dress and powdered hair.
"My ancestor, Count Cagliostro, ladies!" exclaimed the fat little woman
proudly. "As you will soon see, if you have, as I venture to suppose,
come to consult me, I have inherited the great gifts which made Count
Cagliostro famous." She waited a moment. "What is it you desire of me?
Do you wish for the Grand Jeu? Or do you prefer the Crystal?"
Madame Cagliostra gave a shrewd, measuring glance at the two young women
standing before her.
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