"Well?" Maillot had urged.
"Marry the girl. Then give Fluette the Paternoster ruby. Bring your wife to me—for after all is said and done, Royal, I 'm a lonely old man. I 'll see you started on a honeymoon that will make old Fluette open his eyes still wider. You never heard that I was stingy when I wanted to gratify a whim, did you? Well, it's my whim that this thing be done in the best style. I 'll have to leave that part of it to you. You just go ahead and do the proper thing—and send me the bills.… Hound? Bah!"
Mr. Page sat toying with the jewel-box many minutes before he expressed himself as confident that Maillot would carry out his instructions to the letter; then, without warning, he pressed the spring and the lid flew open.
The gem lay between them like a splash of crimson flame.
CHAPTER VIII
MAILLOT'S EXPERIENCE
"We must have made a Rembrandt-like picture"—to quote the young man again—"the two of us bending over this table by the light of a solitary candle. There was a wan reflection of the flame from the polished table-top, but elsewhere all was darkness and the shadows crowded in close. The most brilliant thing in the room was that wonderful jewel, glowing and scintillating like blood-red fire.
"It was considerably larger than the end of my thumb—as large as a big hickory-nut and, my uncle averred, flawless. Rubies of such a size and without a flaw are extremely rare, I believe; in fact, there are only one or two known to be in existence. The old gentleman declared that one of five carats was worth five times as much as a diamond of equal weight, and that the value increased proportionately with each additional carat.
"But I could only sit and stare at it and wonder, and now and then pinch myself to see whether I was in reality awake and not the victim of a fantastic Arabian Nights sort of dream."