“She was a book peddler, a rare sight even in those days, although it had once been the noblest of street professions. By 1913, however, book peddlers had almost disappeared. I wanted to pay her my respects, to help her in some way, the kind of gesture tourists are fond of. I beckoned to her to bring her cart of secondhand books closer. As she did, I heard her reciting, in a lilting accent, like an incantation uttered so often it’s become a reflex: ‘Adventure stories, crime stories, ghost tales, tales of love and romance, books new and old from near and far, only two francs!’ She continued the recitative as she opened the cart’s cover to let me browse her selection. It was outdated and eccentric. Like her, the books were relics of a bygone era. At first glance, she had nothing I wished to read, but all the same I asked her for a recommendation. ‘They’re all good, monsieur, the finest of the age. Two francs each, or six for ten.’ She continued to recite her incantation in a low voice, as I cast another look over the sorry selection and picked up a book at random. ‘How’s this one?’ I asked. ‘I wouldn’t know,’ she replied, ‘for to be perfectly honest with you, monsieur, I’m not much of a reader.’ She burst into a fit of wheezy laughter cut short by consumptive coughs, whose residue she expertly spat onto the pavement. ‘Not of books, at any rate,’ she added. ‘Time, monsieur,’ she continued, although I’d said nothing. ‘I read time. The future as well as the past. I am an expert in the ancient arts of remembering what has been and foretelling what is yet to be. And all for just two francs.’

“The waiter shot the woman a contemptuous glance. ‘How about it, sir? Who would not want to know what surprises fate has in store for us? Only two francs.’ I took two coins from my pocket and gave them to her, holding out my hand with palm turned skyward. ‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ she said, ‘but I don’t read palms. I read eyes.’ I told her I’d never heard of such a thing. ‘Oh, it is a noble art that comes to us from ancient times. No doubt, sir, you will have heard the expression that the eyes are the window to the soul. I have mastered the technique.’ She drew closer. ‘May I look?’ I nodded. ‘I ask only that you look into my eyes, and stay still. Do not look away. Do not speak. Do not allow yourself to be distracted—by the crowd, by the waiter, by anyone. I need only look into your eyes for three or four minutes, and then all will be revealed.’