“In stones of the same color; in rubies if it is the poppy; in sapphires if it is the cornflower, with a little leaf in emeralds.”
Annette's face lighted up with that affectionate joy with which promises and presents animate a woman's countenance.
“The cornflower,” said she, “it is so pretty.”
“The cornflower it shall be. We will go to order it as soon as we return to Paris.”
She no longer tried to leave him, attracted by the thought of the jewel she already tried to see, to imagine.
“Does it take very long to make a thing like that?” she asked.
He laughed, feeling that he had caught her.
“I don't know; it depends upon the difficulties. We will make the jeweler do it quickly.”
A dismal thought suddenly crossed her mind.
“But I cannot wear it since I am in deep mourning!”