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Rh good grace. The Maréchale spread out the cards, looked at them with a sudden change of countenance, and then, with a forced smile, swept them all together again.

"I cannot tell you your fate—it is beyond my art. I suppose my science is limited to my own country." But her manner was evidently constrained; and, with a momentary superstition, it struck Francesca how unusually dark the cards appeared when spread out—while the next moment she smiled at her own folly.

The Duc de Candale followed, and again the ominous pack was shuffled and cut; again Madame the sibyl seemed disconcerted.

"You must beware of long journeys," said she: "but really I am getting stupid and tired—I will finish your fortune some other night, mon cher. You are young enough to wait."

The dancing, which had been suspended, now recommenced with additional animation, and De Candale claimed Francesca's hand; but the rooms were crowded, and they stood for some time loitering on one of the terraces.

"How beautiful are these orange flowers!" said Francesea, pointing to a superb stand of that most lovely shrub, where the golden fruit, the snowy flower, and the polished blossom, hung together.