There was none of the morbid feverish passion he had dreadfully anticipated.

His spirits felt lighter, although he sighed that a bauble, even if it were one of the finest of its kind in the world, should have projected its sinister shadow between them.

It had a wicked history.

But Helene saw no shadows.

She held it up to the light, peered into it as it lay half concealed in the cup of her slender white hands, fondled it against her cheek, hung the chain about her neck.
"How I have dreamed of it," she murmured.