"I
do not know what she is, or what to call her--a sensitive, an hysterical
subject, a medium, a witch--a fool, if you like, or a charlatan if you
prefer the term. Beautiful she is, at least, whatever else she may not
be."
"Yes, she is beautiful."
"So you have seen her, have you?" The little man again looked sharply up
at his tall companion. "You have had a consultation----"
"Does she give consultations? Is she a professional seer?" The Wanderer
asked the question in a tone of surprise. "Do you mean that she
maintains an establishment upon such a scale out of the proceeds of
fortune-telling?"
"I do not mean anything of the sort. Fortune-telling is excellent! Very
good!" Keyork's bright eyes flashed with amusement. "What are you doing
here--I mean in this church?" He put the question suddenly.
"Pursuing--an idea, if you please to call it so."
"Not knowing what you mean I must please to call your meaning by your
own name for it. It is your nature to be enigmatic. Shall we go out?
If I stay here much longer I shall be petrified instead of embalmed. I
shall turn into dirty old red marble like Tycho's effigy there, an awful
warning to future philosophers, and an example for the edification of
the faithful who worship here."
They walked towards the door, and the contrast between the appearance
of the two brought the ghost of a smile to the thin lips of the pale
sacristan, who was occupied in renewing the tapers upon one of the
side altars.
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