Mask

"Show Madame Clisset! She has a gift for this sort of thing!"
The host allowed himself to be persuaded. He took down the mask and handed it to the old lady. Madame Clisset took the mask in both hands and closed her eyes until everyone was watching her. She took a deep breath.
"I can feel a presence in this mask. A very great warrior. A chief." Her Russian accent was more pronounced now. "There is a fire, people dancing... It is a Victory dance... The women are watching, clapping..." She fell silent, her head fell forward. After a pause, she roused herself and, smiling, handed the mask back to the host who preened in the reflected glory of his possession. Most of the guests applauded.

A few guests didn't applaud. They didn't believe in the old woman's "gift".

But Madame Clisset was no fraud. Madame Clisset did have a gift. When she held the mask, she had a real sense of the past. It was true that the victorious warrior-chief was a complete invention, but she had genuinely experienced the impressions of the Chinese worker who had, quickly and efficiently, shaped the mask - one of hundreds.

Madame Clisset was no fraud, but she knew that there was no money in the truth.