Madame de St. Cyr gave a dinner, and, as she had been in the affair,
I determined not to neglect her on this occasion, although having no
definite idea of what had been, or plan of what should be done. I
decided not to speak of this occurrence to Hay, since it might only
bring him off some trail that he had struck.

Having been provided with keys, early on the following evening I entered
the wine-cellar, and, concealed in an empty cask that would have held a
dozen of me, waited for something to turn up. Really, when I think of
myself, a diplomate, a courtier, a man-about-town, curled in a dusty,
musty wine-barrel, I am moved with vexation and laughter. Nothing,
however, turned up,--and at length I retired, baffled. The next night
came,--no news, no identification of my black-browed man, no success;
but I felt certain that something must transpire in that cellar. I don't
know why I had pitched upon that one in particular, but, at an earlier
hour than on the previous night, I again donned the cask. A long time
must have elapsed; dead silence filled the spacious vaults, except where
now and then some Sillery cracked the air with a quick explosion, or
some newer wine bubbled round the bung of its barrel with a faint
effervescence. I had no intention of leaving this place till morning,
but it suddenly appeared like the most woful waste of time. The master
of this tremendous affair should be abroad and active; who knew what his
keen eyes might detect, what loss his absence might occasion in this
nick of time? And here he was, shut up and locked in a wine-cellar!
I began to be very nervous; I had already, with aid, searched every
crevice of the cellar; and now I thought it would be some consolation
to discover the thief, if I never regained the diamond. A distant clock
tolled midnight. There was a faint noise,--a mouse?--no, it was too
prolonged;--nor did it sound like the fiz of Champagne;--a great iron
door was turning on its hinges; a man with a lantern was entering;