I unclasped the shagreen case; the _sergent-de-ville_ and the _gendarme_
stole up and looked over my shoulder; the _garcon_ drew near with round
eyes; the little woman peeped across; the merchant, with tears streaming
over his face, gazed as if it had been a loadstone; finally, I looked
myself. There it lay, the glowing, resplendent thing! flashing in
affluence of splendor, throbbing and palpitant with life, drawing all
the light from the little woman's candle, from the sparkling armor
around, from the steel barbs, and the distant lantern, into its bosom.
It was scarcely so large as I had expected to see it, but more brilliant
than anything I could conceive of. I do not believe there is another
such in the world. One saw clearly that the Oriental superstition of the
sex of stones was no fable; this was essentially the female of diamonds,
the queen herself, the principle of life, the rejoicing creative force.
It was not radiant, as the term literally taken implies; it seemed
rather to retain its wealth,--instead of emitting its glorious rays,
to curl them back like the fringe of a madrepore, and lie there with
redoubled quivering scintillations, a mass of white magnificence, not
prismatic, but a vast milky lustre. I closed the case; on reopening it,
I could scarcely believe that the beautiful sleepless eye would again
flash upon me. I did not comprehend how it could afford such perpetual
richness, such sheets of lustre.
At last we compelled ourselves to be satisfied.
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