Baron Stahl was announced.  I turned to look at his Excellency.  A glance electrified me.  There was my dark-browed man of the midnight streets.  It must, then, have been concerning the diamond that I had heard him speak.  His countenance, his eager, glittering eye, told that today was as eventful to him as to me.  If he were here, I could well afford to be.  As he addressed me in English, my certainty was confirmed; and the instant in which I observed the ring, gaudy and coarse, upon his finger, made confirmation doubly sure.  I own I was surprised that anything could induce the Baron to wear such an ornament.  Here he was actually risking his reputation as a man of taste, as an exquisite, a leader of haut ton, a gentleman, by the detestable vulgarity of this ring.  But why do I speak so of the trinket?  Do I not owe it a thrill of as fine joy as I ever knew?  Faith! it was not unfamiliar to me.  It had been a daily sight for years.  In meeting the Baron Stahl I had found the diamond.

The Baron Stahl was, then, the thief?  Not at all.  My valet, as of course you have been all along aware, was the thief.

The Marquis of G. took down Mme. de St. Cyr; Stahl preceded me, with Delphine.  As we sat at table, G. was at the right, I at the left of our hostess.  Next G. sat Delphine; below her, the Baron; so that we were nearly vis-a-vis.  I was now as fully convinced that Mme. de St. Cyr’s cellar was the one, as the day before I had been that the other was; I longed to reach it.  Hay had given the stone to a butler—­doubtless this—­the moment of its theft; but, not being aware of Mme. de St. Cyr’s previous share in the adventure, had probably not afforded her another.  And thus I concluded her to be ignorant of the game we were about to play; and I imagined, with the interest that one carries into a romance, the little preliminary scene between the Baron and Madame that must have already taken place, being charmed by the cheerfulness 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!