They were great black eyes, sunken into the face of an old woman. She
stood in a corner, and it occurred to me that she had perhaps run there,
as much afraid of me as I was of her. No eyes were ever like those, I
thought, except the eyes of a gipsy.
"What are you doing?" I stammered, in French, hardly expecting her to
understand and answer me; but she replied in an old, cracked voice that
sounded hollow and unreal in the cavern.
"I have been asleep," she said. "I am waiting for my sons. We are in Les
Baux on business. I thought, when I heard you, it was my boys coming to
fetch me. I can't go till they are here, because I have dropped my
rosary with a silver crucifix down below, and the way is too steep for
me. They must get it."
"Do they know you are here?" I asked.
"Oh, yes," she returned. "They will come at six. We shall perhaps have
our supper and sleep in this house to-night. Then we will go away in the
morning."
"It is only a little after five now," I told her. "You frightened me at
first."
She cackled a laugh. "I am nothing to be afraid of," she chuckled. "I am
very old. Besides, there is no harm in me. If you have the time, I could
tell your fortune."
"I'm afraid I haven't time," I said, though I was tempted. To have
one's fortune told in a cavern under a rock house where Romans had
lived, told by a real, live gipsy who looked as if she might be a lineal
descendant from Taven, and who was probably fresh from worshipping at
the tomb of Sarah! It would be an experience. No girl I knew, not even
Pam herself, who is always having adventures, could ever have had one as
good as this. If only I need not miss it!
"It would take no more than five minutes," she pleaded in her queer
French, which was barely understandable, and evidently not the tongue in
which she was most at home.
"Well, then," I said, hastily calculating that it was no more than ten
minutes since Lady Turnour and Sir Samuel left me, and that the water
for their punch couldn't possibly have begun to boil yet. "Well, then,
perhaps I might have five minutes' fortune, if it doesn't cost too much;
but I'm very poor--poorer than you, maybe."
"That cannot be, for then you would have less than nothing," said the
old woman, cackling again. "But it is your company I like to have, more
than your money. I have been waiting here a long time, and I am dull. No
fortune can be expected to come true, however, unless the teller's hand
be crossed with silver, otherwise I might give it you for nothing. But a
two-franc piece--"
"I think I have as much as that," I cut her short, as she paused on the
hint; and deciding not to ask her, as I felt inclined, to come to the
upper room lest we should be interrupted, I went down the remaining five
or six high steps, and got out my purse under a long, straight rod of
gray light.
There were only a few francs left, but I would have beggared myself to
buy this adventure, and thought it cheap at the price she named. I found
a two-franc piece--a bright new one, worthy of its destiny--and looking
up as I shut my purse, I saw the old woman's eyes fixed on me, and sharp
as gimlets. Used to the dusk now, I could see her dark face distinctly,
and so like a hungry crow did she look that I was startled. But it was
only for a second that I felt a little uncomfortable. She was so old and
weak, I was so young and strong, that even if she were an evil creature
who wanted to do me harm, I could shake her off and run away as easily
as a bird could escape from a tied cat.
"Make a cross with the silver piece on my palm," she said.
I did as she told me, and it was a dark and dirty palm, in the hollow of
which seemed to lie a tiny pool of shadow. Her eyes darted to the
bracelet-watch as my wrist slipped out of the protecting sleeve, and I
drew back my hand quickly. She plucked the coin from my fingers, and
then told me to give her my left hand.
"You can't see the lines," I said. "It's too dark."
"I see with my night eyes," she answered, as a witch might have
answered. "And I feel. I have the quick touch of the blind. I can feel
the pores in a flower-petal."
Impressed, I let her hold my hand in one of her lean claws while she
lightly passed the spread fingers of the other down the length of mine
from the tips to the joining with the palm, and then along the palm
itself, up and down and across. It was like having a feather drawn over
my hand.
"You have foreign blood in your veins," she said. "You are not all
French. But you have the charm of the Latin girl. You can make men love
you. You make them love you whether you wish or not, and whether _they_
wish or not. Sometimes that is a great trouble to you. You are anxious
now, for many reasons. One of the reasons is a man, but there is more
than one who loves you. You make one of them unhappy, and yourself
unhappy, too. The man you ought to love is young and handsome, and
dark--very dark. Do not think ever of marrying a fair man. You are on a
journey now. Something very unexpected will happen to you at the
end--something to do with a man, and something to do with a woman. Be
careful then, for your future happiness may depend on your actions in a
moment of surprise. You are not rich, but you have a lucky hand. You
could find things hidden if you set yourself to look for them."
"Hidden treasure?" I asked, laughingly, and venturing to break in
because she was speaking slowly now, as if she had come to the end of
her string of prophecies.
"Perhaps. Yes. If you looked for the hidden treasure here, you might be
the one to find it after all these hundreds of years. Who knows? These
things happen to the lucky ones."
"Well, if I believed that I'd been born for such luck, I'd try to come
back some day, and have a look," I said. "I should begin in this house,
I think."
"It is never so lucky to return for things as to try and get them at
the right time," the old woman pronounced. "If you would like to wait
till my sons come--"
"No, I wouldn't," I said. "I must go now."
"If you would at least do me a favour, for the good fortune I have told
you so cheap," she begged. "I, who in my day have had as much as two
louis from great ladies who would know their fortune!"
"What is the favour?" I asked.
"Oh, it is next to nothing. Only to go down to the foot of the stairs in
the cellar below this, and pick up my rosary, which I dropped, and which
I know is lying there."
"It's too dark," I said. "I couldn't see to find it--and you said your
sons were coming soon."
"Not soon enough, for when you are gone, and I am alone, I should like
to pray at the time of vespers. And it is not so dark as you think.
Besides, this will be the test of the fortune I have just told you. If
it's true that you have the lucky hand for finding you will put it on
the rosary in an instant. That will be a sign you can find anything.
Unless you are afraid, mademoiselle--"
"Of course I'm not afraid," I said, for I always have been ashamed of my
fear of the dark, and have forced myself to fight against it. "If the
rosary is at the foot of the staircase I'll try and get it for you, but
I won't go any farther."
Her corner was close by the opening where more steps were cut into the
rock. I could see the bottom, I thought, and started down quickly,
because I was in a hurry to come back and be on my way home--to the
Aigle.
Six, seven steps, and then--crash! down I came on my hands and knees.
Oh, how it hurt! And how it made my head ring! Fireworks went off before
my eyes, and I felt stupid, inclined to lie still. But suddenly the idea
flashed into my brain, like lightning darting among dark clouds, that
the old woman had made me do this thing on purpose. She had played me a
trick--and if she had, she must have some bad reason for doing it. Those
two sons of hers! I scrambled up, shocked and jarred by the fall, my
hands and knees smarting as if they were skinned.
"I've fallen down," I cried. "Do you hear?"
No answer.
I called again. It was as still as a grave up above. It seemed to me
that it could not be so unnaturally, so inhumanly still, if there were a
living, breathing creature there. I was sure now that the horrible old
thing had known what would happen, had wanted it to happen, and had gone
hobbling away to fetch her wicked gipsy sons. How she had looked at my
poor little purse! How she had looked at Pamela's watch!
I saw now how it was that I had been so stupid. The dim light from above
had lain on the last step and made it appear as if the floor were near;
but there was a gap between the stairway and the bottom of the cellar.
The lower steps had been hewn away--perhaps in a quest for the
ever-elusive treasure. Maybe a crack had appeared, and people, always
searching, had suspected a secret opening and tried to find it. Anyway,
there was the gap, and there was a rough pile of broken stone not far
off, which had once been the end of the rocky stairway. It was lucky
that I hadn't struck my forehead against it in falling--the only bit of
luck which the fortune-teller had brought me!
As it was, I was not seriously hurt. Perhaps I had torn my dress, and I
should certainly have to buy a new pair of gloves, whether I could
afford them or not; otherwise I didn't think I should suffer, except for
a few black-and-blue patches. But how was I to get out of this dark
hole? That was the question. I was too hot with anger against the sly
old fox of a woman, who had pretended that she wanted to say her
prayers, to feel the chill of fear; but I couldn't help understanding
that she had got me into this trap with the object of annexing my watch
and purse or anything else of value. Perhaps the gipsy sons would rob me
first, and then murder me, rather than I should live to tell; but if
they meant to do that they would have to come and be at it soon, or I
should be missed and sought.
This last fancy really did turn me cold, and the nice hot anger which
had kept me warm began to ooze out at my fingers and toes. I thought of
my brave new brother, who would fight ten gipsy men to save me if he
only knew; and then I wanted to cry.
But that would be the silliest thing I could do. Soon they would begin
to look for me (oh, how furious Lady Turnour would be that I should dare
keep her waiting, and at the fuss about a servant!) and if I screamed at
the top of my voice maybe some one would hear.
I took a long breath, and gave vent to a blood-curdling shriek which
would have made the fortune of an actress on the stage. Odd! I couldn't
help thinking of that at the time. One thinks of queer things at the
most inappropriate moments.
It was a glorious howl, but the rock walls seemed to catch it as a
battledore catches a shuttlecock, and send it bounding back to me. I
knew then that a cry from those depths would not carry far; and the fear
at my heart gave a sharp, rat-like bite.
If I could scramble up! I thought; and promptly tried.
It looked almost easy; but for me it was impossible. A very tall woman
might have done it, perhaps, but I have only five foot four in my
Frenchiest French heels; and the broken-off place was higher than my
waist. With good hand-hold I might have dragged myself up, but the steps
above did not come at the right height to give me leverage; and always,
though I tried again and again, till my cut hands bled, I couldn't climb
up. And how silly it seemed, the whole thing! I was just like a young
fly that had come buzzing and bumbling round an ugly old spider's web,
too foolish to know that it was a web. And even now how lightly the
fly's feet were entangled! A spring, and I should be out of prison.
"Oh, the little more, and how much it is!
And the little less, and what worlds away!"
The words came and spoke themselves in my ears, as if they were
determined to make me cry.
I was desperately frightened and homesick--homesick even for Lady
Turnour. I should have felt like kissing the hem of her dress if I could
only have seen her now--and I wasn't able to smile when I thought what a
rage she'd be in if I did it. She would have me sent off to an insane
asylum: but even that would be much gayer and more homelike than an
underground cellar in the Ghost City of Les Baux.
Dear old Sir Samuel, with his nice red face! I almost loved him. The car
seemed like a long-lost aunt. And as for the chauffeur, my brother--I
found that I dared not think of him. As in my imagination I saw his
eyes, his good dark eyes, clear as a brook, and the lines his brown face
took when he thought intently, the tears began running down my cheeks.
"Oh, Jack--Jack, come and help me!" I called.
That comes of _thinking_ people's Christian names. They will pop out of
your mouth when you least expect it. But it mattered little enough now,
except that the sound of the name and the echo of it fluttering back to
me made my tears feel boiling hot--hotter than the punch which the
Turnours must have finished by this time.
"Jack! Jack!" I called again.
Then I heard a stone rattle up above, somewhere, and a sick horror
rushed over me, because of the gipsy men coming back with their wicked
old mother.
It was only a very dark gray in the cellar, to my unaccustomed eyes, but
suddenly it turned black, with purple edges. I knew then I was going to
faint, because I've done it once or twice before, and things always
began by being black with purple edges.