"I suppose many of the famous jewels," said William, "if they could speak, might tell us stories as surprising as the Sancy's."
Then Cyrus Alton, in a low voice, addressing nobody in particular, said: "It would be worth the price of this diamond to know its history."
The Bressani eyebrows went up—high up—and then far down. And beneath the frown the fierce eyes looked eagerly toward the speaker. "Has it a remarkable history, Mr. Alton?"
Cyrus smiled, slowly and somewhat sadly, and gently shook his head. "I wish I knew. I would almost give the diamond's price to know its story—much as I need the money."
"Do you know nothing of its history?"
"Nothing. I only know that if we could see what that stone has seen we should enter a new field of knowledge. It would throw light upon a world of unknown things, earlier than human history."
In silence the jewelers regarded the speaker, as if waiting for some explanation of his words.
Mr. Bressani's eyebrows had shot up to the highest attitude yet attained. In a low voice, but in a tone that showed the liveliest curiosity, he asked, "Just what do you mean, Mr. Alton?"
"I mean the story of this diamond's country would be a story so overwhelming, so far beyond us, so complete and final in its stupendous tragedy that our own human drama would seem a trifling comedy."
These words were spoken in a calm but earnest manner, and they impressed the listeners. A silence followed. Then Mr. Bressani asked: "What is this diamond's country?"