"You felt there was a danger of robbery?"
"Exactly."
"And you were not mistaken." There was irony in her voice.
"True! But let me proceed. A man of the world would see at once that a
jewel-case was an object to attract the eyes of those who live by
their wits."
"I should imagine so."
"Therefore, as a man of the world, I endeavored to devise a scheme of
safeguarding my little cargo."
"And you--"
"I devised one."
"What was it?"
"I took all the jewels out of the case, and put them into my various
pockets; and I carried the case to divert attention from those
pockets."
She looked at me, her face at first all perplexity; gradually the
light broke upon her.
"Simple, wasn't it?" I murmured.
"Then the jewels are not stolen?"
"Certainly not. The jewels are in my pockets. If you recollect, I said
it was the jewel-case that was stolen."
I began to smile.
"Mr. Foster," she said, smiling too, "I am extremely angry."
"Forgive the joke," I entreated. "Perhaps it is a bad one--but I hope
not a very bad one, because very bad jokes are inexcusable. And here
are your jewels."
I put on the expression of a peccant but hopeful schoolboy, as I
emptied one pocket after another of the scintillating treasures. The
jewels lay, a gorgeous heap, on her lap. The necklace which she had
particularly mentioned was of pearls. There were also rubies and
emeralds, upon which she seemed to set special store, and a brooch in
the form of a butterfly, which she said was made expressly for her by
Lalique. But not a diamond in the collection! It appeared that she
regarded diamonds as some men regard champagne--as a commodity not
appealing to the very finest taste.
"I didn't think you were so mischievous," she laughed, frowning.
To transfer the jewels to her possession I had drawn my chair up to
hers, and we were close together, face to face.
"Ah!" I replied, content, unimaginably happy. "You don't know me yet.
I'm a terrible fellow."
"Think of my state of mind during the last fifteen minutes."
"Yes, but think of the joy which you now experience. It is I who have
given you that joy--the joy of losing and gaining all that in a
quarter of an hour."
She picked up the necklace, and as she gazed at the stones her glance
had a rapt expression, as though she were gazing through their depths
into the past.
"Mr. Foster," she said at length, without ceasing to look at the
pearls, "I cannot tell you how glad I am that you are in Paris. Shall
you stay till I have appeared at the Opéra Comique?"
"I was hoping to, and if you say you would like me to--"