right," said the unknown, after a long silence, "but as
I have no more money, as you have seen, and as I yet must retain the
apartments, you must either sell this diamond in the city, or hold it in
pledge."

Cropole looked at the diamond so long, that the unknown said, hastily:

"I prefer your selling it, monsieur; for it is worth three hundred
pistoles. A Jew--are there any Jews in Blois?--would give you two
hundred or a hundred and fifty for it--take whatever may be offered for
it, if it be no more than the price of your lodging. Begone!"

"Oh! monsieur," replied Cropole, ashamed of the sudden inferiority
which the unknown reflected upon him by this noble and disinterested
confidence, as well as by the unalterable patience opposed to so
many suspicions and evasions. "Oh, monsieur, I hope people are not so
dishonest at Blois as you seem to think, and that the diamond, being
worth what you say----"

The unknown here again darted at Cropole one of his withering glances.

"I really do not understand diamonds, monsieur, I assure you," cried he.

"But the jewelers do: ask them," said the unknown. "Now I believe our
accounts are settled, are they not, monsieur l'hote?"

"Yes, monsieur, and to my profound regret; for I fear I have offended
monsieur."

"Not at all!" replied the unknown, with ineffable majesty.

"Or have appeared to be extortionate with a noble traveler. Consider,
monsieur, the peculiarity of the case."

"Say no more about it, I desire; and leave me to myself."

Cropole bowed profoundly, and left the room with a stupefied air, which
announced that he had a good heart, and felt genuine remorse.

The unknown himself shut the door after him, and when left alone, looked
mournfully at the bottom of the purse, from which he had taken a small
silken bag containing the diamond, his last resource.

He dwelt likewise upon the emptiness of his pockets, turned over
the papers in his pocket-book, and convinced himself of the state of
absolute destitution in which he was about to be plunged.

He raised his eyes towards heaven, with a sublime emotion of despairing
calmness, brushed off with his hand some drops of sweat which trickled
over his noble brow, and then cast down upon the earth a look which just
before had been impressed with almost divine majesty.

That the storm had passed far from him, perhaps he had prayed in the
bottom of his soul.

He drew near to the window, resumed his place in the balcony,