my heart sunk. G. was doubtless already within, and I thought of the
_marchand des armures'_ exclamation, "Queen of Heaven, Monsieur! how
shall I meet him!" I was plunged at once into the profoundest gloom.
Why had I undertaken the business at all? This interference, this
good-humor, this readiness to oblige,--it would ruin me yet! I forswore
it, as Falstaff forswore honor. Why needed I to meddle in the _mêlée?_
Why--But I was no catechumen. Questions were useless now. My emotions
are not chronicled on my face, I flatter myself; and with my usual
repose I saluted our hostess. Greeting G. without any allusion to
the diamond, the absence of which allusion he received as a point of
etiquette, I was conversing with Mrs. Leigh, when the Baron Stahl was
announced. I turned to look at his Excellency. A glance electrified me.
There was my dark-browed man of the midnight streets. It must, then,
have been concerning the diamond that I had heard him speak. His
countenance, his eager, glittering eye, told that today was as eventful
to him as to me. If he were here, I could well afford to be. As he
addressed me in English, my certainty was confirmed; and the instant
in which I observed the ring, gaudy and coarse, upon his finger, made
confirmation doubly sure. I own I was surprised that anything could
induce the Baron to wear such an ornament. Here he was actually risking
his reputation as a man of taste, as an exquisite, a leader of _haut
ton_, a gentleman, by the detestable vulgarity of this ring. But why do
I speak so of the trinket? Do I not owe it a thrill of as fine joy as I
ever knew? Faith! it was not unfamiliar to me. It had been a daily sight
for years. In meeting the Baron Stahl I had found the diamond.

The Baron Stahl was, then, the thief? Not at all. My valet, as of course
you have been all along aware, was the thief.

The Marquis of G. took down Mme. de St. Cyr; Stahl preceded me, with