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park, where he could not avoid her. "If it goes on like this,"
she called out to him in a mocking voice, "the next time I see

you, you will be king, of some negro tribe or other."
That time, however, the Brazilian did not deny his identity; on

the contrary, he surrendered at discretion, and implored her not
to betray him. As she was not revengeful she pardoned him, after

enjoying his terror for a time, and promised him that she would
hold her tongue, as long as he did nothing contrary to the laws.

"First of all, I must beg you not to gamble."
"You have only to command; and we do not know each other in the

future"
"I must certainly insist on that," she said maliciously.

The "Exotic Prince" had, however, made a conquest of the charming
daughter of a wealthy Austrian count, and had cut out an

excellent young officer, who was wooing her. The latter, in his
despair, began to make love to Frau von Chabert, and at last told

her he loved her. But she only laughed at him.
"You are very cruel," he stammered in confusion.

"I? What are you thinking about?" Wanda replied, still smiling;
"all I mean is that you have directed your love to the wrong

address, for Countess--"
"Do not speak of her; she is engaged to another man."

"As long as I choose to permit it," she said; "but what will you
do if I bring her back to your arms? Will you still call me

cruel?"
"Can you do this?" the young officer asked, in great excitement.

"Well, supposing I can do it, what shall I be then?"
"An angel, whom I shall thank on my knees."

A few days later, the rivals met at a coffee-house; the Greek
prince began to lie and boast, and the Austrian officer gave him

the lie direct. In consequence, it was arranged that they should
fight a duel with pistols next morning in a wood close to Baden.

But as the officer was leaving the house with his seconds the
next morning, a Police Commissary came up to him and begged him

not to trouble himself any further about the matter, but another
time to be more careful before accepting a challenge.

"What does it mean?" the officer asked, in some surprise.
"It means that this Maurokordatos is a dangerous swindler and

adventurer, whom we have just taken into custody."
"He is not a prince?"

"No; a circus rider."
An hour later, the officer received a letter from the charming

Countess, in which she humbly begged for pardon. The happy lover
set off to go and see her immediately, but on the way a sudden

thought struck him, and so he turned back in order to thank
beautiful Wanda, as he had promised, on his knees.

THE FALSE GEMS
M. Lantin had met the young woman at a soiree, at the home of the

assistant chief of his bureau, and at first sight had fallen
madly in love with her.

She was the daughter of a country physician who had died some
months previously. She had come to live in Paris, with her

mother, who visited much among her acquaintances, in the hope of
making a favorable marriage for her daughter. They were poor and

honest, quiet and unaffected.
The young girl was a perfect type of the virtuous woman whom

every sensible young man dreams of one day winning for life. Her
simple beauty had the charm of angelicmodesty, and the

imperceptible smile which constantly hovered about her lips
seemed to be the reflection of a pure and lovely soul. Her

praises resounded on every side. People were never tired of
saying: "Happy the man who wins her love! He could not find a

better wife."
Now M. Lantin enjoyed a snug little income of $700, and, thinking

he could safely assume the responsibilities of matrimony,
proposed to this model young girl and was accepted.

He was unspeakably happy with her; she governed his household so
cleverly and economically that they seemed to live in luxury. She

lavished the most delicate attentions on her husband, coaxed and
fondled him, and the charm of her presence was so great that six

years after their marriage M. Lantin discovered that he loved his
wife even more than during the first days of their honeymoon.

He only felt inclined to blame her for two things: her love of
the theater, and a taste for false jewelry. Her friends (she was

acquainted with some officers' wives) frequently procured for her
a box at the theater, often for the first representations of the

new plays; and her husband was obliged to accompany her, whether
he willed or not, to these amusements, though they bored him

excessively after a day's labor at the office.
After a time, M. Lantin begged his wife to get some lady of her

acquaintance to accompany her. She was at first opposed to such
an arrangement; but, after much persuasion on his part, she

finally consented--to the infinite delight of her husband.
Now, with her love for the theater came also the desire to adorn

her person. True, her costumes remained as before, simple, and in
the most correct taste; but she soon began to ornament her ears

with huge rhinestones which glittered and sparkled like real
diamonds. Around her neck she wore strings of false pearls, and

on her arms bracelets of imitation gold.
Her husband frequently remonstrated with her, saying:

"My dear, as you cannot afford to buy real diamonds, you ought to
appear adorned with your beauty and modesty alone, which are the

rarest ornaments of your sex."
But she would smile sweetly, and say:

"What can I do? I am so fond of jewelry. It is my only weakness.
We cannot change our natures."

Then she would roll the pearl necklaces around her fingers, and
hold up the bright gems for her husband's admiration, gently

coaxing him:
"Look! are they not lovely? One would swear they were real."

M. Lantin would then answer, smilingly:
"You have Bohemian tastes, my dear."

Often of an evening, when they were enjoying a tete-a-tete by the
fireside, she would place on the tea table the leather box

containing the "trash," as M. Lantin called it. She would examine
the false gems with a passionate attention as though they were in

some way connected with a deep and secret joy; and she often
insisted on passing a necklace around her husband's neck, and

laughing heartily would exclaim: "How droll you look!" Then she
would throw herself into his arms and kiss him affectionately.

One evening in winter she attended the opera, and on her return
was chilled through and through. The next morning she coughed,

and eight days later she died of inflammation of the lungs.
M. Lantin's despair was so great that his hair became white in

one month. He wept unceasingly; his heart was torn with grief,
and his mind was haunted by the remembrance, the smile, the

voice--by every charm of his beautiful, dead wife.
Time, the healer, did not assuage his grief. Often during office

hours, while his colleagues were discussing the topics of the
day, his eyes would suddenly fill with tears, and he would give

vent to his grief in heartrending sobs. Everything in his wife's
room remained as before her decease; and here he was wont to

seclude himself daily and think of her who had been his
treasure--the joy of his existence.

But life soon became a struggle. His income, which in the hands
of his wife had covered all household expenses, was now no longer

sufficient for his own immediate wants; and he wondered how she
could have managed to buy such excellent wines, and such rare

delicacies, things which he could no longer procure with his
modest resources.

He incurred some debts and was soon reduced to absolute poverty.
One morning, finding himself without a cent in his pocket, he

resolved to sell something, and, immediately, the thought
occurred to him of disposing of his wife's paste jewels. He

cherished in his heart a sort of rancor against the false gems.
They had always irritated him in the past, and the very sight of

them spoiled somewhat the memory of his lost darling.
To the last days of her life, she had continued to make

purchases; bringing home new gems almost every evening. He
decided to sell the heavy necklace which she seemed to prefer,

and which, he thought, ought to be worth about six or seven
francs; for although paste it was, nevertheless, of very fine

workmanship.
He put it in his pocket and started out in search of a jeweler's

shop. He entered the first one he saw--feeling a little ashamed
to expose his misery, and also to offer such a worthless article

for sale.
"Sir," said he to the merchant, "I would like to know what this

is worth."
The man took the necklace, examined it, called his clerk and made

some remarks in an undertone; then he put the ornament back on
the counter, and looked at it from a distance to judge of the

effect.
M. Lantin was annoyed by all this detail and was on the point of

saying: "Oh! I know well enough it is not worth anything," when
the jeweler said: "Sir, that necklace is worth from twelve to

fifteen thousand francs; but I could not buy it unless you tell
me now whence it comes."

The widower opened his eyes wide and remained gaping, not
comprehending the merchant's meaning. Finally he stammered:. "You

say--are you sure?" The other replied dryly: "You can search
elsewhere and see if anyone will offer you more. I consider it

worth fifteen thousand at the most. Come back here if you cannot
do better."

M. Lantin, beside himself with astonishment, took up the necklace
and left the store. He wished time for reflection.

Once outside, he felt inclined to laugh, and said to himself:
"The fool! Had I only taken him at his word! That jeweler cannot

distinguish real diamonds from paste."
A few minutes after, he entered another store in the Rue de la

Paix. As soon as the proprietor glanced at the necklace, he cried
out:

"Ah, parbleu! I know it well; it was bought here."
M. Lantin was disturbed, and asked:

"How much is it worth?"
"Well, I sold it for twenty thousand francs. I am willing to take

it back for eighteen thousand when you inform me, according to
our legal formality, how it comes to be in your possession."

This time M. Lantin was dumfounded. He replied:
"But--but--examine it well. Until this moment I was under the

impression that it was paste."
Said the jeweler:

"What is your name, sir?"
"Lantin--I am in the employ of the Minister of the Interior. I

live at No. 16 Rue des Martyrs."
The merchant looked through his books, found the entry, and said:

"That necklace was sent to Mme. Lantin's address, 16 Rue des
Martyrs, July 20, 1876."

The two men looked into each other's eyes--the widower speechless
with astonishment, the jeweler scenting a thief. The latter broke

the silence by saying:
"Will you leave this necklace here for twenty-four hours? I will

give you a receipt."
"Certainly," answered M. Lantin, hastily. Then, putting the

ticket in his pocket, he left the store.
He wandered aimlessly through the streets, his mind in a state of

dreadful confusion. He tried to reason, to understand. His wife
could not afford to purchase such a costlyornament. Certainly

not. But, then, it must have been a present!--a present!--a
present from whom? Why was it given her?

He stopped and remained standing in the middle of the street. A


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