I did not call on G., but in
a week or so his card was brought up one morning to me. "Deny me," I
groaned. It yet wanted a week of the day on which I had promised to
deliver him the diamond. Meanwhile the Baron Stahl had reached Paris,
but he still remained in private,--few had seen him.
The police were forever on the wrong track. To-day they stopped the old
Comptesse du Quesne and her jewels, at the Barriere; to-morrow, with
their long needles, they riddled a package of lace destined for the
Duchess of X. herself; the Secret Service was doubled; and to crown
all, a splendid new star of the testy Prince de Ligne was examined and
proclaimed to be paste,--the Prince swearing vengeance, if he could
discover the cause,--while half Paris must have been under arrest. My
own hotel was ransacked thoroughly,--Hay begging that his traps might be
included,--but nothing resulted, and I expected nothing, for, of course,
I could swear that the stone was in my pocket when I stepped into the
street. I confess I never was nearer madness,--every word and gesture
stung me like asps,--I walked on burning coals. Enduring all this
torment, I must yet meet my daily comrades, eat ices at Tortoni's,
stroll on the Boulevards, call on my acquaintance, with the same
equanimity as before. I believe I was equal to it. Only by contrast with
that blessed time when Ulster and diamonds were unknown, could I imagine
my past happiness, my present wretchedness.
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