“‘Affections, sentiments, sensations!’” she quoted.  “Your own danger for the affection,—­it is an affair of the heart!  Mme. de St. Cyr’s unhappiness,—­there is the sentiment.  You are angry, Monsieur,—­that must be the sensation.”

“Delphine, I am waiting.”

“Ah, well.  You have mentioned Vienna, and why?  Liberals are countenanced there?”

“Not in the least.  But Madame l’Ambassadrice will be countenanced.”

“I do not know her.”

“We are not apt to know ourselves.”

“Monsieur, how idle are these cross-purposes!” she said, folding her fan.

“Delphine,” I continued, taking the fan, “tell me frankly which of these two men you prefer,—­the Marquis or his Excellency.”

“The Marquis?  He is antiphlogistic,—­he is ice.  Why should I freeze myself?  I am frozen now,—­I need fire!”

Her eyes burned as she spoke, and a faint red flushed her cheek.

“Mademoiselle, you demonstrate to me that life has yet a value to you.”

“I find no fire,” she said, as the flush fell away.

“The Baron?”

“I do not affect him.”

“You will conquer your prejudice in Vienna.”

“I do not comprehend you, Monsieur;—­you speak in riddles, which I do not like.”

“I will speak plainer.  But first let me ask you for the diamond.”

“The diamond?  It is yours?  How am I certified of it?  I find it on the floor; you say it was in my mother’s saliere; it is her affair, not mine.  No, Monsieur, I do not see that the thing is yours.”

Certainly there was nothing to be done but to relate the story, which I did, carefully omitting the Baron’s name.  At its conclusion, she placed the prize in my hand.

“Pardon, Monsieur,” she said; “without doubt you should receive it.  And this agent of the government,—­one could turn him like hot iron in this vice,—­who was he?”

“The Baron Stahl.”

All this time G. had been waiting on thorns, and, leaving her now, I approached him, displayed for an instant the treasure on my palm, and slipped it into his.  It was done.  I bade farewell to this Eye of Morning and Heart of Day, this thing that had caused me such pain and perplexity and pleasure, with less envy and more joy than I thought myself capable of.  The relief and buoyancy that seized me, as his hand closed upon it, I shall not attempt to portray.  An abdicated king was not freer.

The Marquis departed, and I, wandering round the salon, was next stranded upon the Baron.  He was yet hardly sure of himself.  We talked indifferently for a few moments, and then I ventured on the great loan.  He was, as became him, not communicative, but scarcely thought it would be arranged.  I then spoke of Delphine.

“She is superb!” said the Baron, staring at her boldly.