The Marquise, it must be confessed, was relieved at his change of tone. Her feelings had been stimulated, her sympathies enlisted, and now her curiosity was aroused. This last quality is seldom weak in her sex, and the Abbé, though it is needless to inquire where or how he learned the trade, was far too experienced a practitioner to neglect so powerful an engine as that desire for knowledge which made shipwreck of Eve and is the bane of all her daughters. Madame de Montmirail was proud—most women are. She loved power—most women do. If a thought flashed through her mind that the advancement of her own position might benefit those in whom she felt interest, what was this but a noble instinct, unselfish as are all the instincts of womanhood?
“You speak in parables, my good Abbé,” said she, with a laugh that betrayed some anxiety to know more. “You talk of crowns and sceptres as familiarly as I do of fans and bracelets. You must expound to me what you mean, for I am one of those who find out a riddle admirably when they have been told the answer.”
“I will instruct you, then,” was his reply, “in the form of a parable. Listen and learn. A certain Sultan had a collection of jewels, and he changed them from time to time—because he could not find a gem that sparkled with equal brilliance by day and by night. So he consulted every jeweller in his dominions, and squandered great sums of money, both in barter and in a search for what he required. Nay, he would trample under foot and defile the treasures he possessed, passionate, languishing, wretched, for want of that he possessed not. So his affairs went to ruin, and his whole country was in want and misery.
“Now, a Dervish praying at sunset by a fountain, saw a beautiful bird fly down to the water to drink. Between its eyes grew a jewel that flamed and glittered like the noonday sun on the Sultan’s drawn scimitar. And the Dervish bethought him, this jewel would be a rare addition to the collection of his lord; so he rolled his prayer-carpet into a pillow, and went to sleep by the side of the fountain, under a tree.
“At midnight the Dervish woke up to pray, and on the branch above his head he saw something flash and sparkle like the sun on the Sultan’s scimitar at noonday. So he said, ‘This is the gem for which my lord pineth. Lo! I will take the bird captive, and bring it with me to the feet of my lord.’
“Then the Dervish took the bird craftily with his hand, and though the fowl was beautiful, and the gem was precious, he kept neither of them for himself, but brought them both for his lord, to be the delight of the Sultan and the salvation of the land.”
“And suppose the poor bird would rather have had her liberty,” replied the Marquise. “It seems to me that in their dealings with men the birds get the worst of it from first to last.”
“This bird was wise in her generation, as the goose that saved Rome,” answered the Abbé; “but the bird I have in my thoughts wants only opportunity to soar her pitch, like the falcon, Queen of Earth and Air. Seriously, madame—look at the condition of our Sultan. I speak not of the young king, a weak and rickety boy, with all respect be it said, ill in bed at this very moment, perhaps never to leave his chamber alive. I mean the Regent, my kind patron, your devoted admirer—the true ruler of France. And look at the jewels in his casket. Do you think there is one that he prizes at the value of a worn-out glove?”
The subject possessed a certain degree of interest, trenching though it was upon very delicate ground.