The enthusiasm of the connoisseur was apparently boundless, and Madame Demidoff was untiring in the praises she bestowed on the charming bibelots.
“But, oh dear me!” she sighed, “how brittle!”
“Not so brittle as you may imagine,” said his Eminence, “for, after all, these candlesticks are some three hundred years old, and they must have been handled by scores of hands, and are still in perfect condition.”
“Not quite perfect, I think,” she replied, “for see! this one little Cupid has his arm sadly chipped from wrist to elbow.”
“Oh, mon Dieu!” said his Eminence, “I do hope this has been done before, and not since, I have had charge of these inconvenient things. I assure you, chère madame, they are a source of constant anxiety to me, ever since his Majesty forced them into my hands. Pray, do allow me to place the damaged candlestick on one side, or perhaps you will extend your kindness by wrapping it up once more in its coverings. I dare not touch it for fear of damaging it further, and can show you the secret spring in the other, for they are both alike.”
Tenderly, as if it were a child, his Eminence, with Madame Demidoff’s help, had wrapped the damaged candlestick up in its many coverings once more, and had carefully placed it on one side. And now the fair Russian was eagerly watching the Cardinal’s fingers as he pressed on the tiny gold leaf, and explained to her the mysteries of the secret spring and the hidden receptacle, so complete, so perfect, so absolutely free from any possibility of detection. Madame Demidoff could ill conceal her excitement, and she nerved herself now to the task, the intricate bit of diplomacy that still lay before her.
“Ah!” she said at last, “no wonder your Eminence feels nervous and ill at ease with such fragile things in your keeping. You have no idea how careless the custom-house officials and railway porters are in Austria, with boxes and valises belonging to men. With ladies’ things, I notice, they are much more careful, for they fear the consequences of a crushed gown, or a torn piece of lace.”
“You absolutely give me the shudders, chère madame,” said his Eminence. “I declare my life will be a perfect misery until the happy moment when they are safe in the Princess Marïonoff’s hands, let alone the fact of my bitter disappointment in having to forego my long-projected holiday.”
Madame Demidoff was still attentively examining the pretty bibelots, as she said playfully—
“Would your Eminence really care to give up the chance of being Cupid’s messenger?”