Well, in this very Hotel de l'Horloge Mrs.Bailey had come across a Polish lady, named Anna Wolsky, who was, like Sylvia herself, a young widow, and the two had taken a great fancy to one another.
It was most unlikely that Madame Wolsky would have the slightest influence on her, Sylvia Bailey's, life, but at any rate it was very curious coincidence.

"Pharaoh" had proved to be right as to these two things--she had come abroad, and she had formed a friendship with a foreign woman.
Mrs.Bailey was still standing by the table, and still holding the pink card in her hand, when her new friend came into the room.
"Well ?" said Anna Wolsky, speaking English with a strong foreign accent, but still speaking it remarkably well, "Have you yet decided, my dear, what we shall do this afternoon?
There are a dozen things open to us, and I am absolutely at your service to do any one of them!" Sylvia Bailey laughingly shook her head.
"I feel lazy," she said.

"I've been at the Bon Marche ever since nine o'clock, and I feel more like having a rest than going out again, though it does seem a shame to stay in a day like this!" The windows were wide open, the June sun was streaming in, and on the light breeze was borne the murmur of the traffic in the Avenue de l'Opera, within a few yards of the quiet street where the Hotel de l'Horloge is situated.
The other woman--Anna Wolsky was some years older than Sylvia Bailey--smiled indulgently.
"_Tiens!_" she cried suddenly, "what have you got there ?" and she took the pink card out of Sylvia's hand.
"Madame Cagliostra ?" she repeated, musingly.

"Now where did I hear that name?
Yes, of course it was from our chambermaid! Cagliostra is a friend of hers, and, according to her, a marvellous person--one from whom the devil keeps no secrets! She charges only five francs for a consultation, and it appears that all sorts of well-known people go to her, even those whom the Parisians call the _Gratin_, that is, the Upper Crust, from the Champs Elysees and the Faubourg St.Germain!" "I don't think much of fortune-tellers," said Sylvia, thoughtfully.
"I went to one last time I was in London and he really didn't tell me anything of the slightest interest." Her conscience pricked her a little as she said this, for "Pharaoh" had certainly predicted a journey which she had then no intention of taking, and a meeting with a foreign woman.

Yet here she was in Paris, and here was the foreign woman standing close to her! Nay more, Anna Wolsky had become--it was really rather odd that it should be so--the first intimate friend of her own sex Sylvia had made since she was a grown-up woman.
"I do believe in fortune-tellers," said Madame Wolsky deliberately, "and that being so I shall spend my afternoon in going up to Montmartre, to the Rue Jolie, to hear what this Cagliostra has to say.