s with
which she endured the loss of the promised reward.

As the Baron entered the dining-room. I saw him withdraw his glove, and
move the jewelled hand across his hair while passing the solemn butler,
who gave it a quick recognition;--the next moment we were seated. It was
a dinner _a la Russe_; that is, only wines were on the table, clustered
around a central ornament,--a bunch of tall silver rushes and
flag-leaves, on whose airy tip danced _fleurs-de-lis_ of frosted silver,
a design of Delphine's,--the dishes being on side-tables, from which
the guests were served as they signified their choice of the variety on
their cards. Our number not being large, and the custom so informal,
rendered it pleasant.

I had just finished my oysters and was pouring out a glass of Chablis,
when another plate was set before the Baron.

"His Excellency has no salt," murmured the butler,--at the same time
placing one beside him. A glance, at entrance, had taught me that most
of the service was uniform; this dainty little _saliere_ I had noticed
on the buffet, solitary, and unlike the others. What a fool had I been!
Those gaps in the Baron's remarks caused by the paving-stones, how
easily were they to be supplied!

"Madame?"

Madame de St. Cyr.

"The cellar?"

A salt-cellar.

How quick the flash that enlightened me while I surveyed the _saliere!_

"It is exquisite! Am I never to sit at your table but some new device
charms me?" I exclaimed. "Is it your design, Mademoiselle?" I said,
turning to Delphine.

Delphine, who had been ice to all the Baron's advances, only curled her
lip. "_Des babioles!_" she said.

"Yes, indeed," cried Mme. de St. Cyr, extending her hand for it. "But
none the less her taste. Is it not a fairy thing? A _Cellini!_ Observe
this curve, these lines! but one man could have drawn them!"--and she
held it for our scrutiny. It was a tiny hand and arm of ivory, parting
the foam of a wave and holding a golden shell, in which the salt seemed
to have crusted itself as if in some secretest ocean-hollow. I looked at
the Baron a moment; his eyes were fastened upon the _saliere_, and all
the color had forsaken his cheeks,--his face counted his years. The
diamond was in that little shell. But how to obtain it? I had no novice
to deal with; nothing but delicate _finesse_ would answer.

"Permit me to examine it," I said. She passed it to her left hand for me
to take. The butler made a step forward.

"Meanwhile, Ma