The fortune-teller did not smile; she simply told him to wait. She took the cards hastily once more and shuffled them with her long tapering fingers whose nails were so long and unclean from neglect; she shuffled them well, once, twice, thrice; then she began to lay them out. Camillo’s eyes were riveted upon her in anxious curiosity.

“The cards tell me…”

Camillo leaned forward to drink in her words one by one. Then she told him to fear nothing. Nothing would happen to him or to the other. He, the third, was aware of naught. Nevertheless, great caution was indispensable; envy and rivalry were at work. She spoke to him of the love that bound them, of Rita’s beauty… Camillo was bewildered. The fortune-teller stopped talking, gathered the cards and locked them in the drawer.

“The lady has restored peace to my spirit,” he said, offering her his hand across the table and pressing that of the card-reader.

She arose, laughing.

“Go,” she said. “Go, ragazzo inamorato…”

And arising, she touched his head with her index finger. Camillo shuddered, as if it were the hand of one of the original sybils, and he, too, arose. The fortune-teller went to the bureau, upon which lay a plate of raisins, took a cluster of them and commenced to eat them, showing two rows of teeth that were as white as her nails were black. Even in this common action the woman possessed an air all her own. Camillo, anxious to leave, was at a loss how much to pay; he did not know her fee.

“Raisins cost money,” he said, at length, taking out his pocket-book. “How much do you want to send for?”

“Ask your heart,” she replied.

Camillo took out a note for ten milreis’ and gave it to her. The eyes of the card-reader sparkled. Her usual fee was two milreis.

“I can see easily that the gentleman loves his lady very much… And well he may. For she loves the gentleman very deeply, too. Go, go in peace, with your mind at ease. And take care as you descend the staircase, — it’s dark. Don’t forget your hat…”

The fortune-teller had already placed the note in her pocket, and accompanied him down the stairs, chatting rather gaily. At the bottom of the first flight Camillo bid her good-bye and ran down the stairs that led to the street, while the card-reader, rejoicing in her large fee, turned back to the garret, humming barcarolle. Camillo found the tilbury waiting for him; the street was now clear. He entered and the driver whipped his horse into a fast trot.