 | The amber gods, and other stories |  |
I.
IT was the day of Madame de St. Cyr's dinner,
an event I never missed; for, the mistress
of a mansion in the Faubourg St. Germain,
there still lingered about her the exquisite
grace and good-breeding peculiar to the old régime, that
insensibly communicates itself to the guests till they
move in an atmosphere of ease that constitutes the
charm of home. One was always sure of meeting desirable
and well-assorted people here, and a contre-temps
was impossible. Moreover, the house was not at the
command of all; and Madame de St. Cyr, with the
daring strength which, when found in a woman at all,
should, to be endurable, be combined with a sweet but
firm restraint, rode rough-shod over the parvenus of the
Empire, and was resolute enough to insulate herself
even among the old noblesse, who, as all the world
knows, insulate themselves from the rest of France.
There were rare qualities in this woman, and were I to
have selected one who with an even hand should carry a
snuffy candle through a magazine of powder, my choice
would have devolved upon her; and she would have
done it.
I often looked, and not unsuccessfully, to discern what
heritage her daughter had in these little affairs. Indeed,
to one like myself, Delphine presented the worthier
study. She wanted the airy charm of manner, the
suavity and tenderness of her mother, — a deficiency
easily to be pardoned in one of such delicate and extraordinary
beauty. And perhaps her face was the truest
index of her mind; not that it ever transparently displayed
a genuine emotion, — Delphine was too well bred
for that, — but the outline of her features had a keen
regular precision, as if cut in a gem. Her exquisite
color seldom varied, her eyes were like blue steel, she
was statue-like and stony. But had one paused there,
pronouncing her hard and impassive, he had committed
an error. She had no great capability for passion, but
she was not to be deceived; one metallic flash of her
eye would cut like a sword through the whole mesh of
entanglements with which you had surrounded her; and
frequently, when alone with her, you perceived cool
recesses in her nature, sparkling and pleasant, which
jealously guarded themselves from a nearer approach.
She was infinitely spirituelle; compared to her, Madame
herself was heavy.
At the first, I had seen that Delphine must be the wife
of a diplomate. What diplomate? For a time asking
myself the question seriously, I decided in the negative,
which did not, however, prevent Delphine from fulfilling
her destiny, since there were others. She was, after all,
like a draught of rich old wine, all fire and sweetness.
These things were not generally seen in her; I was
more favored than many; and I looked at her with
pitiless perspicacious eyes. Nevertheless, I had not the
least advantage; it was, in fact, between us, diamond
my story.
Some years previously, I had been sent on a special
mission to the government at Paris, and having finally
executed it, I resigned the post, and resolved to make my
residence there, since it is the only place on earth where
one can live. Every morning I half expect to see the
country, beyond the city, white with an encampment of
the nations, who, having peacefully flocked there over
night, wait till the Rue St. Honoré shall run out and
greet them. It surprises me, sometimes, that those pretending
to civilization are content to remain at a distance.
What experience have they of life, — not to mention gayety
and pleasure, but of the great purpose of life, — society?
Man evidently is gregarious; Fourier's fables are
founded on fact; we are nothing without our opposites,
our fellows, our lights and shadows, colors, relations, combinations,
our point d'appui, and our angle of sight. An
isolated man is immensurable; he is also unpicturesque,
unnatural, untrue. He is no longer the lord of Nature,
animal and vegetable, — but Nature is the lord of him;
the trees, skies, flowers, predominate, and he is in as bad
taste as green and blue, or as an oyster in a vase of roses.
The race swings naturally to clusters. It being admitted,
then, that society is our normal state, where is it to be obtained
in such perfection as at Paris? Show me the
urbanity, the generosity in trifles, better than sacrifice,
the incuriousness and freedom, the grace, and wit, and
honor, that will equal such as I find here. Morality, —
we were not speaking of it, — the intrusion is unnecessary;
must that word with Anglo-Saxon pertinacity dog us
round the world? A hollow mask, which Vice now and
then lifts for a breath of air, I grant you this state may be
my preference for the accompanying mask. But even
this is vanishing; such drawing-rooms as Mme. de St.
Cyr's are less and less frequent. Yet, though the delightful
spell of the last century daily dissipates itself,
and we are not now what we were twenty years ago, still
Paris is, and will be to the end of time, for a cosmopolitan,
the pivot on which the world revolves.
It was, then, as I have said, the day of Mme. de St.
Cyr's dinner. Punctually at the hour, I presented myself,
— for I have always esteemed it the least courtesy
which a guest can render, that he should not cool his
hostess's dinner.
The usual choice company waited. There was the
Marquis of G., the ambassador from home; Col. Leigh,
an attaché of that embassy; the Spanish and Belgian
ministers; — all of whom, with myself, completed a diplomatic
circle. There were also wits and artists, but no
ladies whose beauty exceeded that of the St. Cyrs. With
nearly all of this assemblage I held certain relations, so
that I was immediately at ease. G. was the only one
whom, perhaps, I would rather not have met, although
we were the best of friends. They awaited but one, the
Baron Stahl. Meanwhile Delphine stood coolly taking
the measurement of the Marquis of G., while her mother
entertained one and another guest with a low-toned flattery,
gentle interest, or lively narration, as the case might
demand.
In a country where a coup d'état was as easily given
as a box on the ear, we all attentively watched for the
arrival of one who had been sent from a neighboring
empire to negotiate a loan for the tottering throne
of this. Nor was expectation kept long on guard. In
announced.
The exaggeration of his low bow to Mme. de St. Cyr,
the gleam askance of his black eye, the absurd simplicity
of his dress, did not particularly please me. A low forehead,
straight black brows, a beardless cheek with a fine
color which gave him a fictitiously youthful appearance,
were the most striking traits of his face; his person was
not to be found fault with; but he boldly evinced his admiration
for Delphine, and with a wicked eye.
As we were introduced, he assured me, in pure English,
that he had pleasure in making the acquaintance of a gentleman
whose services were so distinguished.
I, in turn, assured him of my pleasure in meeting a
gentleman who appreciated them.
I had arrived at the house of Mme. de St. Cyr with a
load on my mind, which for four weeks had weighed
there; but before I thus spoke, it was lifted and gone.
I had seen the Baron Stahl before, although not previously
aware of it; and now, as he bowed, talked my
native tongue so smoothly, drew a glove over the handsome
hand upon whose first finger shone the only incongruity
of his attire, a broad gold ring, holding a gaudy
red stone, — as he stood smiling and expectant before me,
a sudden chain of events flashed through my mind, an instantaneous
heat, like lightning, welded them into logic.
A great problem was resolved. For a second, the breath
seemed snatched from my lips; the next, a lighter, freer
man never trod in diplomatic shoes.
I really beg your pardon, — but perhaps from long
usage, it has become impossible for me to tell a straight
story. It is absolutely necessary to inform you of events
already transpired.
In the first place, then, I, at this time, possessed a valet,
the pink of valets, an Englishman, — and not the less
valuable to me in a foreign capital, that, notwithstanding
his long residence, he was utterly unable to speak one
word of French intelligibly. Reading and writing it
readily, his thick tongue could master scarcely a syllable.
The adroitness and perfection with which he
performed the duties of his place were unsurpassable.
To a certain extent I was obliged to admit him into
my confidence; I was not at all in his. In dexterity
and despatch he equalled the advertisements. He never
condescended to don my cast-off apparel, but, disposing
of it, always arrayed himself in plain but gentlemanly
garments. These do not complete the list of Hay's capabilities.
He speculated. Respectable tenements in London
called him landlord; in the funds certain sums lay
subject to his order; to a profitable farm in Hants he
contemplated future retirement; and passing upon the
Bourse, I have received a grave bow, and have left him
in conversation with an eminent capitalist respecting consols,
drafts, exchange, and other erudite mysteries, where
I yet find myself in the A B C. Thus not only was my
valet a free-born Briton, but a landed proprietor. If the
Rothschilds blacked your boots or shaved your chin, your
emotions might be akin to mine. When this man, who
had an interest in the India traders, brought the hot
water into my dressing-room, of a morning, the Antipodes
were tributary to me. To what extent might any
little irascibility of mine drive a depression in the market!
and I knew, as he brushed my hat, whether stocks
rose or fell. In one respect, I was essentially like our
Saxon ancestors, — my servant was a villain. If I had
been merely a civilian, in any purely private capacity,
of the delicate specialties intrusted to me from the cabinet
at home, the possession of so inestimable a valet might
have bullied me beyond endurance. As it was, I found
it rather agreeable than otherwise. He was tacitly my
secretary of finance.
Several years ago, a diamond of wonderful size and
beauty, having wandered from the East, fell into certain
imperial coffers among our Continental neighbors; and at
the same time some extraordinary intelligence, essential
to the existence, so to speak, of that government, reached
a person there who fixed as its price this diamond. After
a while he obtained it, but, judging that prudence lay in
departure, took it to England, where it was purchased for
an enormous sum by the Duke of — as he will remain
an unknown quantity, let us say X. There are probably
not a dozen such diamonds in the world, — certainly not
three in England. It rejoiced in such flowery appellatives
as the Sea of Splendor, the Moon of Milk; and, of
course, those who had but parted with it under protest, as
it were, determined to obtain it again at all hazards; —
they were never famous for scrupulosity. The Duke of
X. was aware of this, and, for a time, the gem had lain
idle, its glory muffled in a casket; but finally, on some
grand occasion, a few months prior to the period of which
I have spoken above, it was determined to set it in the
Duchess's coronet. Accordingly, one day, it was given
by her son, the Marquis of G., into the hands of their
solicitor, who should deliver it to her Grace's jeweller.
It lay in a small shagreen case, and before the Marquis
left, the solicitor placed the case in a flat leathern box,
where lay a chain of most singular workmanship, the
clasp of which was deranged. This chain was very
brick was a tiny gem, set in a delicate filagree linked
with the next, and the whole rainbowed lustrousness
moving at your will, like the scales of some gorgeous
Egyptian serpent; — the solicitor was to take this also to
the jeweller. Having laid the box in his private desk,
Ulster, his confidential clerk, locked it, while he bowed
the Marquis down. Returning immediately, the solicitor
took the flat box and drove to the jeweller's. He found
the latter so crowded with customers, it being the fashionable
hour, as to be unable to attend to him; he,
however, took the solicitor into his inner room, a dark
fire-proof place, and there quickly deposited the box
within a safe, which stood inside another, like a Japanese
puzzle, and the solicitor, seeing the doors double-locked
and secured, departed; the other promising to attend to
the matter on the morrow.
Early the next morning, the jeweller entered his dark
room, and proceeded to unlock the safe. This being concluded,
and the inner one also thrown open, he found the
box in a last and entirely, as he had always believed, secret
compartment. Anxious to see this wonder, this Eye
of Morning, and Heart of Day, he eagerly loosened the
band and unclosed the box. It was empty. There was
no chain there; the diamond was missing. The sweat
streamed from his forehead, his clothes were saturated,
he believed himself the victim of a delusion. Calling an
assistant, every article and nook in the dark room was
examined. At last, in an extremity of despair, he sent
for the solicitor, who arrived in a breath. The jeweller's
alarm hardly equalled that of the other. In his sudden
dismay, he at first forgot the circumstances and dates
relating to the affair; afterward was doubtful. The
jeweller given into custody. Every breath the solicitor
continued to draw only built up his ruin. He swallowed
laudanum, but, by making it an overdose, frustrated his
own design. He was assured, on his recovery, that no
suspicion attached to him. The jeweller now asseverated
that the diamond had never been given to him; but
though the jeweller had committed perjury, this was,
nevertheless, strictly true. Of course, whoever had the
stone would not attempt to dispose of it at present, and,
though communications were opened with the general
European police, there was very little to work upon.
But by means of this last step the former possessors
became aware of its loss, and I make no doubt had their
agents abroad immediately.
Meanwhile, the case hung here, complicated and tantalizing,
when one morning I woke in London. No
sooner had G. heard of my arrival than he called, and,
relating the affair, requested my assistance. I confess
myself to have been interested, — foolishly so, I thought
afterward; but we all have our weaknesses, and diamonds
were mine. In company with the Marquis, I waited upon
the solicitor, who entered into the few details minutely,
calling frequently upon Ulster, a young, fresh-looking
man, for corroboration. We then drove to the jeweller's
new quarters, took him, under charge of the officers, to
his place of business, where he nervously showed me
every point that could bear upon the subject, and ended
by exclaiming, that he was ruined, and all for a stone he
had never seen. I sat quietly for a few moments. It
stood, then, thus: — G. had given the thing to the solicitor,
seen it put into the box, seen the box put into the
desk; but while the confidential clerk, Ulster, locked the
returning, took the box, without opening it again, to the
jeweller, who, in the hurry, shut it up in his safe, also
without opening it. The case was perfectly clear. These
mysterious things are always so simple! You know now,
as well as I, who took the diamond.
I did not choose to volunteer, but assented, on being
desired. The police and I were old friends; they had so
often assisted me, that I was not afraid to pay them in
kind, and accordingly agreed to take charge of the case,
still retaining their aid, should I require it. The jeweller
was now restored to his occupation, although still subjected
to a rigid surveillance, and I instituted inquiries
into the recent movements of the young man Ulster. The
case seemed to me to have been very blindly conducted.
But, though all that was brought to light concerning him
in London was perfectly fair and aboveboard, it was discovered
that, not long since, he had visited Paris, — on the
solicitor's business, of course, but gaining thereby an opportunity
to transact any little affairs of his own. This
was fortunate; for if any one could do anything in Paris,
it was myself.
It is not often that I act as a detective. But one
homogeneous to every situation could hardly play a
pleasanter part for once. I have thought that our great
masters in theory and practice, Machiavel and Talleyrand,
were hardly more, on a large scale.
I was about to return to Paris, but resolved to call
previously on the solicitor again. He welcomed me
warmly, although my suspicions had not been imparted
to him, and, with a more cheerful heart than had lately
been habitual to him, entered into an animated conversation
respecting the great case of Biter v. Bit, then absorbing
Ulster, whose remarks were always pertinent, brief, and
clear. As I sat actively discussing the topic, feeling no
more interest in it than in the end of that cigar I just cut
off, and noting exactly every look and motion of the
unfortunate youth, I recollect the curious sentiment that
filled me regarding him. What injury had he done me,
that I should pursue him with punishment? Me? I am,
and every individual is, integral with the commonwealth.
It was the commonwealth he had injured. Yet, even
then, why was I the one to administer justice? Why not
continue with my coffee in the morning, my kings and
cabinets and national chess at noon, my opera at night,
and let the poor devil go? Why, but that justice is
brought home to every member of society, — that naked
duty requires no shirking of such responsibility, — that,
had I failed here, the crime might, with reason, lie at my
door and multiply, the criminal increase himself?
Very possibly you will not unite with me; but these
little catechisms are, once in a while, indispensable, to
vindicate one's course to one's self.
This Ulster was a handsome youth; — the rogues have
generally all the good looks. There was nothing else
remarkable about him but his quickness; he was perpetually
on the alert; by constant activity, the rust was
never allowed to collect on his faculties; his sharpness
was distressing, — he appeared subject to a tense strain.
Now his quill scratched over the paper unconcernedly,
while he could join as easily in his master's conversation:
nothing seemed to preoccupy him, or he held a mind open
at every point. It is pitiful to remember him that morning,
sitting quiet, unconscious, and free, utterly in the
hands of that mighty Inquisition, the Metropolitan Police,
remotest corners of the Continent, — at the mercy of so
merciless a monster, and momently closer involved, like
some poor prey round which a spider spins its bewildering
web. It was also curious to observe the sudden suspicion
that darkened his face at some innocent remark, — the
quick shrinking and intrenched retirement, the manifest
sting and rancor, as I touched his wound with a swift
flash of my slender weapon and sheathed it again, and,
after the thrust, the espionage, and the relief at believing
it accidental. He had many threads to gather up and
hold; — little electric warnings along them must have
been constantly shocking him. He did that part well
enough; it was a mistake, to begin with; he needed
prudence. At that time I owed this Ulster nothing;
now, however, I owe him a grudge, for some of the most
harassing hours of my life were occasioned me by him.
But I shall not cherish enmity on that account. With so
promising a beginning, he will graduate and take his
degree from the loftiest altitude in his line. Hemp is a
narcotic; let it bring me forgetfulness.
In Paris I found it not difficult to trace such a person,
since he was both foreign and unaccustomed. It was ascertained
that he had posted several letters. A person
of his description had been seen to drop a letter, the superscription
of which had been read by one who picked it
up for him. This superscription was the address of the
very person who was likely to be the agent of the former
possessors of the diamond, and had attracted attention
After all, — you know the Secret Force, — it was not so
impossible to imagine what this letter contained, despite
of its cipher. Such a person also had been met among
the Jews, and at certain shops whose reputation was not
St. Cyr, on business relative to a vineyard adjoining her
château in the Gironde, which she had sold to a wine
merchant of England. I found a zest in the affair, as I
pursued it.
We were now fairly at sea, but before long I found we
were likely to remain there; in fact, nothing of consequence
eventuated. I began to regret having taken the
affair from the hands in which I had found it, and one
day, it being a gala or some insatiable saint's day, I was
riding, perplexed with that and other matters, and paying
small attention to the passing crowd. I was vexed and
mortified, and had fully decided to throw up the whole, —
on such hairs do things hang, — when, suddenly turning a
corner, my bridle-reins became entangled in the snaffle of
another rider. I loosened them abstractedly, and not till
it was necessary to bow to my strange antagonist, on parting,
did I glance up. The person before me was evidently
not accustomed to play the dandy; he wore his clothes ill,
sat his horse worse, and was uneasy in the saddle. The
unmistakable air of the gamin was apparent beneath the
superficies of the gentleman. Conspicuous on his costume,
and wound like an order of merit upon his breast,
glittered a chain, the chain, — each tiny brick-like gem
spiked with a hundred sparks, and building a fabric of
sturdy probabilities with the celerity of the genii in constructing
Aladdin's palace. There, a cable to haul up
the treasure, was the chain; — where was the diamond?
I need not tell you how I followed this young friend, with
what assiduity I kept him in sight, up and down, all day
long, till, weary at last of his fine sport, as I certainly was
of mine, he left his steed in stall and fared on his way
a-foot. Still pursuing, now I threaded quay and square,
one of those dark crowded lanes leading eastward from
the Pont Neuf, in the city. It was the sign of a marchand
des armures, and having provided myself with those persuasive
arguments, a sergent-de-ville and a gendarme, I
entered.
A place more characteristic it would be impossible to
find. Here were piled bows of every material, ash, and
horn, and tougher fibres, with slackened strings, and
among them peered a rusty clarion and battle-axe, while
the quivers that should have accompanied lay in a distant
corner, their arrows serving to pin long, dusty, torn banners
to the wall. Opposite the entrance, an archer in
bronze hung on tiptoe, and levelled a steel bow, whose
piercing flèche seemed sparkling with impatience to spring
from his finger and flesh itself in the heart of the intruder.
The hauberk and halberd, lance and casque, arquebuse
and sword, were suspended in friendly congeries; and
fragments of costly stuff swept from ceiling to floor,
crushed and soiled by the heaps of rusty firelocks, cutlasses,
and gauntlets thrown upon them. In one place,
a little antique bust was half hid in the folds of some
pennon, still dyed with battle-stains; in another, scattered
treasures of Dresden and Sèvres brought the drawning-room
into the campaign; and all around bivouacked rifles,
whose polished barrels glittered full of death, — pistols, variously
mounted, for an insurgent at the barricades, or for
a lost millionnaire at the gaming-table, — foils, with buttoned
bluntness, — and rapiers whose even edges were
viewless as if filed into air. Destruction lay everywhere,
at the command of the owner of this place, and, had he
possessed a particle of vivacity, it would have been hazardous
to bow beneath his doorway. It did not, I must
the owner came forward, I determined on my plan of
action.
“You have, sir,” I said, handing him a bit of paper, on
which were scrawled some numbers, “a diamond in your
possession, of such and so many carats, size, and value,
belonging to the Duke of X., and left with you by an
Englishman, Mr. Arthur Ulster. You will deliver it to
me, if you please.”
“Monsieur!” exclaimed the man, lifting his hands, and
surveying me with the widest eyes I ever saw. “A diamond!
In my possession! So immense a thing! It is
impossible. I have not even seen one of the kind. It is
a mistake. Jacques Noailles, the vender of jewels en gros,
second door below, must be the man. One should perceive
that my business is with arms, not diamonds. I
have it not; it would ruin me.”
Here he paused for a reply, but, meeting none, resumed.
“M. Arthur Ulster! — I have heard of no such
person. I never spoke with an Englishman. Bah! I
detest them! I have no dealings with them. I repeat, I
have not your jewel. Do you wish anything more of
me?”
His vehemence only convinced me of the truth of my
suspicions.
“These heroics are out of place,” I answered. “I demand
the article in question.”
“Monsieur doubts me?” he asked, with a rueful face, —
“questions my word, which is incontrovertible?” Here
he clapped his hand upon a couteau-de-chasse lying near,
but, appearing to think better of it, drew himself up, and,
with a shower of nods flung at me, added, “I deny your
accusation!” I had not accused him.
“You are at too much pains to convict yourself. I
charge you with nothing,” I said. “But this diamond
must be surrendered.”
“Monsieur is mad!” he exclaimed, “mad! he dreams!
Do I look like one who possesses such a trophy? Does
my shop resemble a mine? Look about! See! All
that is here would not bring a hundredth part of its
price. I beseech Monsieur to believe me; he has mistaken
the number, or has been misinformed.”
“We waste words. I know this diamond is here, as
well as a costly chain —”
“On my soul, on my life, on my honor,” he cried,
clasping his hands and turning up his eyes, “there is
here nothing of the kind. I do not deal in gems. A
little silk, a few weapons, a curiosity, a nicknack, comprise
my stock. I have not the diamond. I do not
know the thing. I am poor. I am honest. Suspicion
destroys me!”
“As you will find, should I be longer troubled by your
denials.”
He was inflexible, and, having exhausted every artifice
of innocence, wiped the tears from his eyes, — oh, these
French! life is their theatre, — and remained quiet. It
was getting dark. There was no gas in the place; but
in the pause a distant street-lamp swung its light dimly
round.
“Unless one desires to purchase, allow me to say that
it is my hour for closing,” he remarked, blandly, rubbing
his black-bearded chin.
“My time is valuable,” I returned. “It is late and
dark. When your shop-boy lights up —”
“Pardon, — we do not light.”
“Permit me, then, to perform that office for you. In
have not appeared to recognize.”
So saying, I scratched a match upon the floor, and, as
the sergent-de-ville and the gendarme advanced, threw the
light of the blue spirt of sulphurous flame upon them. In
a moment more the match went out, and we remained in
the demi-twilight of the distant lantern. The marchand
des armures stood petrified and aghast. Had he seen the
imps of Satan in that instant, it could have had no greater
effect.
“You have seen them?” I asked. “I regret to inconvenience
you; but unless this diamond is produced at
once, my friends will put their seal on your goods, your
property will be confiscated, yourself in a dungeon. In
other words, I allow you five minutes; at the close of that
time you will have chosen between restitution and ruin.”
He remained apparently lost in thought. He was a
big, stout man, and with one blow of his powerful fist
could easily have settled me. It was the last thing in his
mind. At length he lifted his head, — “Rosalie!” he
called.
At the word, a light foot pattered along a stone floor
within, and in a moment a little woman stood in an arch
raised by two steps from our own level. Carrying a
candle, she descended and tripped toward him. She was
not pretty, but sprightly and keen, as the perpetual attrition
of life must needs make her, and wore the everlasting
grisette costume, which displays the neatest of ankles, and
whose cap is more becoming than wreaths of garden millinery.
I am too minute, I see, but it is second nature.
The two commenced a vigorous whispering amid sundry
gestures and glances. Suddenly the woman turned, and,
laying the prettiest of little hands on my sleeve, said, with
a winning smile, —
“Is it a crime of lèse-majesté?”
This was a new idea, but might be useful.
“Not yet,” I said; “two minutes more, and I will not
answer for the consequence.”
Other whispers ensued.
“Monsieur,” said the man, leaning on one arm over
the counter, and looking up in my face, with the most
engaging frankness, — “it is true that I have such a diamond;
but it is not mine. It is left with me to be delivered
to the Baron Stahl, who comes as an agent from his
court for its purchase.”
“Yes, — I know.”
“He was to have paid me half a million francs, — not
half its worth, — in trust for the person who left it, who is
not M. Arthur Ulster, but Mme. de St. Cyr.”
Madame de St. Cyr! How under the sun — No, —
it could not be possible. The case stood as it stood
before. The rogue was in deeper water than I had
thought; he had merely employed Mme. de St. Cyr. I
ran this over in my mind, while I said, “Yes.”
“Now, sir,” I continued, “you will state the terms of
this transaction.”
“With pleasure. For my trouble I was myself to receive
patronage and five thousand francs. The Baron is
to be here directly, on other and public business. Reine
du ciel, Monsieur! how shall I meet him?”
“He is powerless in Paris; your fear is idle.”
“True. There were no other terms.”
“Nor papers?”
“The lady thought it safest to be without them. She
took merely my receipt, which the Baron Stahl will bring
to me from her before receiving this.”
“I will trouble you for it now.”
He bowed and shuffled away. At a glance from me,
the gendarme slipped to the rear of the building, where
three others were stationed at the two exits in that direction,
to caution them of the critical moment, and returned.
Ten minutes passed, — the merchant did not appear. If,
after all, he had made off with it! There had been the
click of a bolt, the half-stifled rattle of arms, as if a door
had been opened and rapidly closed again, but nothing
more.
“I will see what detains my friend,” said Mademoiselle,
the little woman.
We suffered her to withdraw. In a moment more a
quick expostulation was to be heard.
“They are there, the gendarmes, my little one! I
should have run, but they caught me, the villains! and
replaced me in the house. Oh, sacre!” — and rolling
this word between his teeth, he came down and laid a
little box on the counter. I opened it. There was
within a large, glittering, curiously-cut piece of glass.
I threw it aside.
“The diamond!” I exclaimed.
“Monsieur had it,” he replied, stooping to pick up the
glass with every appearance of surprise and care.
“Do you mean to say you endeavored to escape with
that bawble? Produce the diamond instantly, or you
shall hang as high as Haman!” I roared.
Whether he knew the individual in question or not,
the threat was efficient; he trembled and hesitated, and
finally drew the identical shagreen case from his bosom.
“I but jested,” he said. “Monsieur will witness that I
relinquish it with reluctance.”
“I will witness that you receive stolen goods!” I cried,
in wrath.
He placed it in my hands.
“Oh!” he groaned, from the bottom of his heart, hanging
his head, and laying both hands on the counter before
him, — “it pains, it grieves me to part with it!”
“And the chain,” I said.
“Monsieur did not demand that!”
“I demand it now.”
In a moment, the chain also was given me.
“And now will Monsieur do me a favor? Will he inform
me by what means he ascertained these facts?”
I glanced at the garçon, who had probably supplied
himself with his master's finery illicitly; — he was the
means; — we have some generosity; — I thought I should
prefer doing him the favor, and declined.
I unclasped the shagreen case; the sergent-de-ville and
the gendarme stole up and looked over my shoulder; the
garçon drew near with round eyes; the little woman
peeped across; the merchant, with tears streaming over
his face, gazed as if it had been a loadstone; finally, I
looked myself. There it lay, the glowing, resplendent
thing! flashing in affluence of splendor, throbbing and
palpitant with life, drawing all the light from the little
woman's candle, from the sparkling armor around, from
the steel barbs, and the distant lantern, into its bosom.
It was scarcely so large as I had expected to see it, but
more brilliant than anything I could conceive of. I do
not believe there is another such in the world. One saw
clearly that the Oriental superstition of the sex of stones
was no fable; this was essentially the female of diamonds,
the queen herself, the principle of life, the rejoicing receptive
force. It was not radiant, as the term literally taken
implies; it seemed rather to retain its wealth, — instead
of emitting its glorious rays, to curl them back like the
scintillations, a mass of white magnificence, not
prismatic, but a vast milky lustre. I closed the case; on
reopening it, I could scarcely believe that the beautiful
sleepless eye would again flash upon me. I did not comprehend
how it could afford such perpetual richness, such
sheets of lustre.
At last we compelled ourselves to be satisfied. I left
the shop, dismissed my attendants, and, fresh from the
contemplation of this miracle, again trod the dirty, reeking
streets, crossed the bridge, with its lights, its warehouses
midway, its living torrents who poured on unconscious
of the beauty within their reach. The thought of
their ignorance of the treasure, not a dozen yards distant,
has often made me question if we all are not equally unaware
of other and greater processes of life, of more perfect,
sublimed, and, as it were, spiritual crystallizations
going on invisibly about us. But had these been told of
the thing clutched in the hand of a passer, how many of
them would have known where to turn? and we, — are
we any better?
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