"_A gauche,--quelquefois c'est justement a droit_," I replied.
"Salt in any pottage," said Madame, a little uneasily, "is like surprise
in an individual; it brings out the flavor of every ingredient, so my
cook tells me."
"It is a preventive of palsy," I remarked, as the slight trembling of my
adversary's finger caught my eye.
"And I have noticed that a taste for it is peculiar to those who trace
their blood to Galitzin," continued Madame.
"Let us, therefore, elect a deputation to those mines near Cracow," said
Delphine.
"To our cousins, the slaves there?" laughed her mother.
"I must vote to lay your bill on the table, Mademoiselle," I rejoined.
"But with a _boule blanche_, Monsieur?"
"As the salt has been laid on the floor," said the Baron.
Meanwhile, as this light skirmishing proceeded, my sleeve and Mme. de
St. Cyr's dress were slightly powdered, but I had not seen the diamond.
The Baron, bolder than I, looked under the table, but made no discovery.
I was on the point of dropping my napkin to accomplish a similar
movement, when my accommodating neighbor dropped hers. To restore it, I
stooped. There it lay, large and glowing, the Sea of Splendor, the Moon
of Milk, the Torment of my Life, on the carpet, within half an inch of a
lady's slipper. Mademoiselle de St. Cyr's foot had prevented the Baron
from seeing it; now it moved and unconsciously covered it. All was as
I wished. I hastily restored the napkin, and looked steadily at
Delphine,--so steadily, that she perceived some meaning, as she had
already suspected a game.
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