another followed, and another. They seated themselves. In a few moments,
appearing one by one and at intervals, some thirty people were in the
cellar. Were they all to share in the proceeds of the diamond? With what
jaundiced eyes we behold things! I myself saw all that was only through
the lens of this diamond, of which not one of these men had ever heard.
As the lantern threw its feeble glimmer on this group, and I surveyed
them through my loophole, I thought I had never seen so wild and savage
a picture, such enormous shadows, such bold outline, such a startling
flash on the face of their leader, such light retreating up the
threatening arches. More resolute brows, more determined words, more
unshrinking hearts, I had not met. In fact, I found myself in the centre
of a conspiracy, a society as vindictive as the Jacobins, as unknown and
terrible as the Marianne of to-day. I was thunderstruck, too, at the
countenances on which the light fell,--men the loyalest in estimation,
ministers and senators, millionnaires who had no reason for discontent,
dandies whose reason was supposed to be devoted to their tailors, poets
and artists of generous aspiration and suspected tendencies, and
one woman,--Delphine de St. Cyr. Their plans were brave, their
determination lofty, their conclave serious and fine; yet as slowly they
shut up their hopes and fears in the black masks, one man bent toward
the lantern to adjust his. When he lifted his face before concealing it,
I recognized him also. I had met him frequently at the Bureau of Police;
he was, I believe, Secretary of the Secret Service.

I had no sympathy with these people. I had liberty enough myself, I was
well enough satisfied with the world, I did not care to revolutionize
France; but my heart rebelled at the mockery, as this traitor and
spy, this creature of a system by which I gained my fame, showed his
revolting face and veiled it again. And Delphine, what had she to do
with them? One by one, as they entered, they withdrew, and I was left