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step forward. The man waited, leaning his
    back against the column, his calm liquid eyes travelling speculatively
    round the group as if there was all the time in the world. He made no
    effort to tout for custom, Christina noticed curiously. With a feeling
    of anti-climax she began to back away and to her alarm felt someone
    grasp her arm.
    'Now then, little lady.' A plump, bespectacled man in brightly
    coloured sports shirt and slacks beamed at her. 'Why don't you try
    your luck?'
    The people round him agreed enthusiastically and in spite of her
    protests, Christina found herself being pushed to the forefront of the
    crowd. She was blushing with annoyance and embarrassment. She

    wasn't altogether averse to having her fortune told and she knew—of
    course she did— that it was all harmless fun, yet at the same time she
    was reluctant to take part in what amounted to a public performance.
    It must be her day for finding herself in situations that were none of
    her making, she told herself philosophically as she squatted
    obediently in front of the fortuneteller and added some coins to the
    battered tin at his side. She didn't know what to do—whether or not to
    extend her palm for him to read, but in fact he seemed totally
    oblivious of fier presence. All his attention seemed to be concentrated
    on the small pile of bones he was tossing in his hands. She waited
    rather uncomfortably, feeling that she was making a fool of herself
    for the second time that day, and that she did not want to be told that
    she would soon make a long journey and meet a dark stranger. That
    was the usual jargon, wasn't it?
    The bones cascaded to the ground with heart-stopping suddenness
    and the man bent forward to examine them. There was a long silence,
    and Christina felt suddenly edgy. Oh, why couldn't he do his spiel and
    get it over with?, she wondered, visualising Mrs Brandon's reaction if
    she were to emerge from the hotel and find her new companion sitting
    around in the dust, waiting to hear details of an imaginary future.
    'You must take care, m'm'selle.'' The man's voice, suddenly hoarse
    and harsh, recaptured her wandering attention. 'I see evil. You must
    beware—beware of the devil at Archangel.'
    Abruptly he rose to his feet, snatching up the bones and the tin cup,
    and walked off through the crowd, ignoring the disappointed protests
    that followed him. Christina got to her feet, smoothing her skirt,
    aware of the curious glances that were being directed at her. Her face
    flaming, she almost ran to the hotel entrance, the man's words
    sounding like a warning drum beat in her head— 'Beware—beware of
    the devil at Archangel.'

    She still had not fully recovered her composure the next day when she
    set out on the last lap of her journey to Ste Victoire with Mrs
    Brandon. But, if she was honest, the fortune-teller was not wholly to
    blame for this. Mrs Brandon had indeed been angry to find that she
    had gone out— unaccountably so—and Christina had found herself
    wilting under the lash of her tongue. Nor had a halting attempt to
    describe her afternoon's ordeal and its strange aftermath led to any
    softening of her employer's attitude. Mrs Brandon did not hesitate to
    imply that Christina had asked for everything she had got and more,
    and when Christina had tried to tell her about the fortune-teller, she
    had been imperiously waved to silence.
    Dinner was an uncomfortable meal, with Mrs Brandon maintaining
    an icy reserve which boded ill for the future. It was not as if her anger
    had been roused by concern for Christina and the danger she had been
    in. It seemed simply to have been caused by the fact that her
    instructions had not been obeyed to the letter.
    Christina was thankful when she could at last withdraw to her own
    room. She felt unutterably weary, but perhaps predictably, sleep
    would not come. No amount of logical reasoning could dismiss the
    chill of the fortune-teller's warning.
    She told herself over and over