“What fabulous good fortune, Contessina! You must seize it....”
I made some protest: “But I scarcely know the young man, I do not love him, I am too old for him....”
But my friends parried these objections. Especially Prince Achille threw himself into the matter. He offered his services to make the necessary inquiries, and, through his real-estate agent John Arthur, to see to the purchase of a magnificent palais. He ventured the prophecy that I should have the finest salon in Paris. Even if the young man did not boast an aristocratic name—I contributed that; and millions, so many millions, mean far more nowadays than rank and title. All this sounded very pleasant to me; my mother regarded the affair as a great stroke of luck, the young man was elegant and handsome and seemed to worship me,—so we said Yes.
Then the father appeared a second time and invited us to a drive which put me into a genuine Arabian-Nights frame of mind. We drove through the Champs-Élysées; it was for me to select one of four or five splendid palaces which were for sale. My choice fell on the Hôtel Païva,—a regular jewel casket, which Count Henckel-Donnersmarck had set up for the beautiful Madame Païva.
From the Champs-Élysées we drove to the Rue de la Paix. My future father-in-law had us stop in front of a great jewelry establishment. His valet lifted him out of the carriage and assisted him into the shop, where an easy chair was put at his service. The rest of us stood near by. He ordered them to show us the richest jewels that were to be had. The complaisant jeweler brought out his most magnificent wares, and the velvet caskets as they were opened disclosed to my eyes the prismatic sparkle of solitaires and the mild glory of pearls as big as peas.
“What is the price of this rivière?” asked the Australian.
“Two hundred thousand francs,” was the answer.
Then turning to me, “Does that please you?”
Yes, it pleased me! And now he took up a pearl necklace.
“That is not bad,” he commented, “but it has only three rows; could one not have five?”