“Whence came this, monsieur?” he inquired, with evident interest, “and what is this talk of fair visitors? We are not on the Pont-au-Change.”
I laughed, enjoying his sober perplexity.
“No,” I responded, “but not even on the Pont-au-Change did you ever have a fairer visitor, and a princess at that,” and I proceeded to relate my experience with a relish for the surprise that I knew I was giving him.
But all the while, he was examining the pear with the minute attention of an expert, and when I was done, he closed it with an ease that made me envy his skill in a trade that, if the truth be told, I held rather in contempt.
“Ma foi!” I exclaimed, “I would have been happy to have done that an hour ago; you know the trick of it by instinct.”
He shook his head, smiling. “I have seen it before,” he said quietly; “a good piece of workmanship, monsieur, and Italian in origin.”
It was now my turn to be surprised, and I knew he enjoyed turning the tables upon me.
“Perhaps you can give me its history,” I said drily.
“No, no, M. le Marquis,” he replied, laughing a little at my vexation. “I only know that I have seen it, and handled it in the palace of the Prince Galitsyn; he usually wears it around his neck.”
“Ah,” I exclaimed, “with the portrait of Sophia in it,” and I pointed to the miniature lying on the folds of Maître le Bastien’s cloak.