“I don’t know anything about them! It’s too odd! See what’s written on this piece of paper that was inside the box.”
He held out a small piece of paper, on which the creases of several folds were plainly marked. Across it, in typing, ran two sentences. I snatched the paper and read the words:
We don’t want your diamonds. You can keep them, and with them accept our kind regards.
The paper fluttered to my feet. I knew in a moment what it all meant. The thieves had discovered that the diamonds were paste, and had returned them. I was conscious of Herbert’s startled face suddenly charged with an expression of sharp anxiety as he cried:
“Why, Gladys, what is it? You’re as white as death!”
He came toward me, but I motioned him away and rose to my feet. I knew then that the hour had come, and tho I suspect I was very white, I did not feel so frightened as I had done in the past.
“Those are your diamonds, Herbert,” I said, quietly and distinctly, “or, perhaps, I ought to say those are the substitutes for them. Your diamonds are in Paris, at Barriere’s, au quatrème, on the Rue Croix des Petits Champs.”
“Gladys!” he exclaimed, “what do you mean? What are you talking about? You look so white and strange! Sit down, darling, and tell me what you mean.”
“Oh, Herbert,” I cried, with my voice suddenly full of agony, “let me tell you! Don’t stop me. If you’re angry with me and hate me, wait till I’ve finished before you say so. I’ve got to confess it all. I’ve got to, dear. You must listen to me, and not frighten me till I have done; for if I don’t tell you now, I shall certainly die.”
And then I told—I told it all. I didn’t leave out a single thing. My first bills, and Bolkonsky, and the jeweler, and the pawnbroking place, and everything was in it. Once I was started, it was not so hard, and I poured it out. I didn’t try to make it better, or ask to be forgiven. But when it was all finished, I said, in a voice that I could hear was suddenly husky and trembling: