The Oracle Glass Read Online Free PDF Page A

just know it. And, oh, what will I tell Père Laporte? He doesn’t approve of fortune-telling.” And I don’t approve of having a confessor instead of a conscience, I thought. I was quite proud of mine, which had been produced through the discovery of the laws of virtue by the use of reason.
    But the woman the maid ushered through the inner door was nothing like what Marie-Angélique had expected. She looked like a lady, dressed in dark emerald green silk over a black embroidered petticoat. Her black hair was arranged in curls and decorated with brilliants in the latest court style. Her face was pale and elegant, with a wide forehead, a long classic nose, and narrow, delicate chin. Her smile was curious, narrow, and turned up at the edges, like a pointed V. I could tell that Mother and Marie-Angélique approved of her appearance. She makes good money in this business, I thought.
    I studied her closely as she took her seat, for as one of my tutors had explained, the science of physiognomy allows people of education to discern the character of persons from their features and carriage. The fortune-teller looked about thirty; her air was self-assured, and her eyes, somber and black, seemed all-knowing, almost mocking. Her whole presence had a sort of brooding intensity, and her posture as she sat in her brocade upholstered armchair was regal, as if she were the queen of this secret world, temporarily admitting petitioners from a lesser place. Let’s see what she has to say, I said to myself. We’ll see how clever she is.
    â€œGood day, Madame Pasquier. You have come to discover what fortune your daughters will have in marriage.” Mother seemed impressed. Her fan ceased its motion. A logical conclusion when a woman comes in trailing two daughters, I thought. The woman is shrewd. After a number of flattering compliments were exchanged, Marie-Angélique was pushed to take her seat by the table directly opposite the fortune-teller. The most celebrated pythoness in Paris took her hand.
    â€œYour family has suffered reverses,” the fortune-teller said, running her fingers over my sister’s palm. “You have been brought home from…ah, yes…a convent school for want of money. The dowry has…ah…diminished. But you will fulfill your mother’s greatest dream. A lover of the highest rank—a fortune. But beware of the man in the sky-blue coat. The one that wears a blond wig.” Bravo, well done. Half the most fashionable men in Paris must have a sky-blue coat and a blond wig.
    Mother’s smile was triumphant, but Marie-Angélique burst into tears. “Don’t you see marriage and children for me? You must look closer. Oh, look again!” Clever, I thought. Satisfy the one who is paying first. But how will she evade this problem?
    â€œI don’t always see the entire picture,” the fortune-teller said, her voice soft and insinuating. “A child? Yes, I think. And there may be marriage beyond the man in the sky-blue coat. But just now I cannot see beyond him. Perhaps you should consult me again in a few months’ time, when the farther future will appear more clearly.” Very shrewd. Marie-Angélique would be back secretly before Christmas with every sou she could beg or borrow, despite all the admonitions of Père Laporte.
    Mother was so impatient to hear her own fortune now that she very nearly pushed Marie-Angélique off the seat in order to hear the words of the oracle. In a confidential tone that I wasn’t supposed to hear, the sorceress whispered, “Your husband does not understand you. You make a thousand economies for his happiness and he doesn’t acknowledge one of them. He is without ambition and refuses to attend the court and seek the favor that would restore your happiness. Never fear; new joy is at hand.” An odd, pleased look crossed Mother’s face. “If you want to hasten that