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!
"Madame?"
Madame de St. Cyr.
"The cellar?"
A salt-cellar.
How quick the flash that enlightened me while I surveyed the _saliere!_
"It is exquisite! Am I never to sit at your table but some new device
charms me?" I exclaimed. "Is it your design, Mademoiselle?" I said,
turning to Delphine.
Delphine, who had been ice to all the Baron's advances, only curled her
lip. "_Des babioles!_" she said.
"Yes, indeed," cried Mme. de St. Cyr, extending her hand for it. "But
none the less her taste. Is it not a fairy thing? A _Cellini!_ Observe
this curve, these lines! but one man could have drawn them!"--and she
held it for our scrutiny. It was a tiny hand and arm of ivory, parting
the foam of a wave and holding a golden shell, in which the salt seemed
to have crusted itself as if in some secretest ocean-hollow. I looked at
the Baron a moment; his eyes were fastened upon the _saliere_, and all
the color had forsaken his cheeks,--his face counted his years.
Pages:
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87