“Ah?  You know, then, that I have sold it?”

“Yes,” I replied.  “I have the pleasure of Mr. Ulster’s acquaintance.”

“He arranged the terms for me,” she said, with restraint,—­adding, “I could almost wish now that it had not been.”

This was probably true; for the sum which she hoped to receive from Ulster for standing sponsor to his jewel was possibly equal to the price of her vineyard.

“It was indispensable at the time, this sale; I thought best to hazard it on one more season.—­If, after such advantages, Delphine will not marry, why—­it remains to retire into the country and end our days with the barbarians!” she continued, shrugging her shoulders; “I have a house there.”

“But you will not be obliged to throw us all into despair by such a step now,” I replied.

She looked quickly, as if to see how nearly I had approached her citadel,—­then, finding in my face no expression but a complimentary one, “No,” she said, “I hope that my affairs have brightened a little.  One never knows what is in store.”

Before long I had assured myself that Mme. de St. Cyr was not a party to the theft, but had merely been hired by Ulster, who, discovering the state of her affairs, had not, therefore, revealed his own,—­and this without in the least implying any knowledge on my part of the transaction.  Ulster must have seen the necessity of leaving the business in the hands of a competent person, and Mme. de St. Cyr’s financial talent was patent.  There were few ladies in Paris who would have rejected the opportunity.  Of these things I felt a tolerable certainty.

“We throng with foreigners,” said Madame, archly, as I reached this point.  “Diplomates, too.  The Baron Stahl arrives in a day.”

“I have heard,” I responded.  “You are acquainted?”

“Alas! no,” she said.  “I knew his father well, though he himself is not young.  Indeed, the families thought once of intermarriage.  But nothing has been said on the subject for many years.  His Excellency, I hear, will strengthen himself at home by an alliance with the young Countess, the natural daughter of the Emperor.”

“He surely will never be so imprudent as to rivet his chain by such a link!”

“It is impossible to compute the dice in those despotic countries,” she rejoined,—­which was pretty well, considering the freedom enjoyed by France at that period.

“It may be,” I suggested, “that the Baron hopes to open this delicate subject with you himself, Madame.”

“It is unlikely,” she said, sighing.  “And for Delphine, should I tell her his Excellency preferred scarlet, she would infallibly wear blue.  Imagine her, Monsieur, in fine scarlet, with a scarf of gold gauze, and rustling grasses in that unruly gold hair of hers!  She would be divine!”