“Thank you, Monsieur. Good afternoon,” said the Pope, and Duvernet vanished.
“My child,” said the Holy Father, after a little pause: “What is this about your having the finest diamond brooch in Paris?” As he spoke, the Holy Father’s face grew anxious. The possession of fine diamonds by a girl of Fifi’s condition was a little disquieting to him.
“It is only paste, Holy Father,” replied Fifi, whipping the brooch out of her pocket. “I always carry it with me to make believe it is diamond, but it is no more diamond than my shoe. Duvernet thinks it is diamond, and I encouraged him to think so, because I found that it always overawed him. Whenever he grew presumptuous, all I had to do was to put on this great dazzling brooch and a very grand air, and it brought him down at once.”
“My child,” said the Holy Father—and stopped.
“I know what you would say, Holy Father—I am deceiving Duvernet—but that is what is called in the world—diplomacy.”
With that she handed the brooch to the Holy Father. It was a brazen imposture, and the Pope, who knew something about gems, could but smile at the size and impudence of the alleged stones.
Then Fifi said timidly:
“Holy Father, how about Cartouche? I so much want to marry Cartouche!”
“Then,” said the Pope calmly, “you can not do better than marry Cartouche, for I am sure he is an honest fellow, and loves you, and you must bring him out to see me.”
“Oh, Holy Father,” cried Fifi joyfully, “when I bring Cartouche out to see you, you will see what a very honest, kind man he is! But you must not expect to see a fine gentleman. My Cartouche has the heart and the manners of a gentleman, but he has not the clothes of a gentleman.” And to this, the Pope replied, smiling: