The Two Sapphires

Recounting the Circumstance of a Lady Whose Ingenuity Left Her Hoist by Her Own Petard

FRÉDÉRIC BOUTET

AS was her custom Yvonne Mantel stopped her taxi at the corner and finished her journey on foot, shivering in the sharp and snowy March afternoon. Her throat contracted with the slight, not unpleasant fear she felt each time she made this visit. . . . And yet her affair with Jacques had already lasted nearly a year. . . . True, this adventure was Yvonne's first. Before meeting Jacques Andry at a tea she had never thought that she could he unfaithful to her husband. . . . But her husband, a man without charm and much older than herself, had never inspired her with love, and Jacques was so alluring; he had such a delicate way of saying that he loved her. . . .

Yvonne disappeared under the archway. She knocked at the door of a little apartment on the ground floor. It was opened instantly.

"Darling, it was so good of you to be on time. ..."

Jacques had embraced her; now he was urging her forward into a large room that was soft, warm, luxurious, heavy with perfume. Yvonne gave a little sigh of comfort and satisfaction: how nice it was, after the hostile cold of the streets, to find this fire on the hearth, this subdued light, these roses dropping their petals one by one, these tidbits standing ready on a low table!

"But aren't you pretty, Yvonne!"

SHE took off her hat, her furs, her jacket. O lie looked at her with admiration: blonde and supple, her delicate beauty was set off to advantage by her costume.

"To-morrow is your birthday, dearest." lie paused. "And ... see what I have for you. . . No, no, I beg you not to say that you can't accept it; we had both agreed that you would let me give you a present. But tell me, Yvonne: is this what you really wanted, or did I make a mistake?"

He gave her a little jewel-case, which she opened.

"Oh, Jacques, Jacques, isn't it lovely! And weren't you a dear to think of me! . . . I'm just crazy about it. ... I wanted it so much. . . . And most of all I like it because you gave it to me."

Between her slender fingers a ring, a sapphire set in a circle of diamonds, was gleaming in the light. She tried it on; the ring fitted perfectly. She thanked Jacques again with deep tenderness, though she felt a very sincere scruple, one that she had already expressed to him vehemently, and one that Jacques had not quite vanquished by his entreaties: was she justified in accepting such an expensive present? . . . She didn't dare. . . .

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Am I nothing? Can't I even give you a ring? After all, you can tell your husband that it's a present from an aunt, the one in the country, he quarrelled with. . . . I'm only too happy to give you something you like, Yvonne, for your birthday. This is really the ring you wanted, isn't it ? At any rate I made the jeweller promise to give me the very same one that you showed me in his window two weeks ago. ..."

"Oh yes, it's just the one T wanted. I'll wear it to-morrow on my birthday . . . when I come to see you."

Her charming face suddenly became grave.'"Jacques," she said, "I mustn't stay too late this afternoon. I must dine with my husband."

In spite of that fact, Yvonne did not come home that evening till half past seven and was a little irritated at having so little time to dress.

"Monsieur is ready; lie is in the library," said the maid.

Yvonne ran to the library. M. Mantel, a heavy, bearded man with puffy cheeks and a bald head, was waiting for her in a dinner jacket that added not the least touch of elegance to his appearance. He was reading the evening paper.

"I'll he ready in ten minutes; I just couldn't get back any sooner," Yvonne said rapidly.

He gave an evasive nod; she was no later than usual, in fact she was always late. However, he did not let her escape.

"Don't run away; I have something to tell you. . . . Come here."

Filled with sudden anxiety she came forward, her heart heating.

"Just guess what this is," he continued, holding out his great fist with something invisible clutched inside it.

"But ... I don't know."

"It's your birthday present. Ah, I didn't forget after all. To-morrow ..."

HE burst into laughter and gave her a little JLL case exactly like the one she had received from Jacques a few hours before. Inside the case was a ring, a sapphire set with diamonds, identical with the one Jacques had given her.

"I hope it's the right ring," M. Mantel continued. "When I went to the jeweller's, I made him give me the one you showed me in his windoAV."

"I thank you, oh, so much," said Yvonne warmly. "What a darling ring! . . . See how pretty it looks on my finger.... I won't wear it this evening. . . . I'll wear it to celebrate my birthday."

"I'm very happy at having pleased you," he said candidly. "And now run off and get dressed or we'll keep everybody waiting till nine o'clock."

Yvonne went hastily to her room. In the hack of a draAver she placed the tAvo jewel-cases side by side: the one from her husband and the one she had carried home from her rendezvous with Jacques.

For many months Yvonne had felt a mad desire for a sapphire and diamond ring, hut because of her husband she could not, without explaining IIOAV it came into her possession, wear a jeAvel worth several thousand francs; and because of her lover she did not wish to wear a jewel given her by M. Mantel. . . . Suddenly, about a month before her birthday, she had solved the difficulty. She had seen Jacques, and lie had asked her the date of her birthday. When she told him, he had begged her to say what she really wanted. At first, sincerely offended, she had refused to accept anything of value. But Jacques had insisted, and Yvonne had finally abandoned her scruples, not wishing to provoke him and thinking that after all lie was rich; that it was only natural for him to give her a present. . . . It was then, in a flash of genius, that she hit upon a plan: to be given the ring she desired so much, and to In' given this ring not only by her lover, hut also by her husband. Each of them, seeing it on her finger, would recognize his own gift. To each of them she would Show the type she hoped to receive, in a well-knoAvn jeweller's windoAV, the same model. . . . Thus, she would have two identical rings; she could wear one and sell the other-for Yvonne was fond of clothes and often found herself in difficulties because of her extravagance.

THIS was the plan which had been crowned with such complete success.

Congratulating herself for having displayed so much presence of mind, she set out with her husband for their dinner party.

When she came home that evening, she took the two sapphires out to admire them. The following morning she examined them again to decide which of them she would keep. . . . They were just alike. . . . She finally decided between them, put the chosen ring on her finger, and replaced the other in its ease. She would sell one of the rings immediately; her bill was overdue at the dressmaker's, and really she couldn't get along without new furs. .. . What a nice little sum would be left over!

The morning of the next day Yvonne left the house soon after her husband. She went to the furrier's and chose a scarf which she asked to be delivered. Then she paid a visit to a jeweller whose name had been given her by one of her friends, a woman who had sold some of her jewels.

Yvonne took the ring she wished to sell from her handbag.

"I should like to dispose of this ring," she said a little timidly to the jeweller. "What would you give for it?"

He examined it carefully.

"Mmmh ... I regret to say that it is an imitation and has no value. We shouldn't care to buy it," he said.

Yvonne gave a start.

"But surely you must he mistaken. It is a ring that cost a great deal of money."

The man smiled:

"Really, Madame, imitation jewels, no matter how well they are made. ..."

Yvonne hesitated.

"Imitation jewels?"

"Madame, the sapphire and the diamonds are not genuine stones; in our trade we detect imitations easily."

There was a brief silence. Overwhelmed, Yvonne was doing her best to preserve some appearance of calm. Finally, dropping the imitation sapphire viciously into her hag, she drew the other ring from her finger and held it out in her hand for the jeweller to inspect.

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"And this one?" she stammered.

"Ah. . . . The stones are excellent. ... It is worth five thousand francs."

Yvonne thanked the jeweller and went away. Furious, she felt like weeping with humiliation and rage. She tried to review the situation: one of the rings was false, and hence one of the two men closest to her, either her husband or her lover, had tricked her by a show of generosity, had despised her to the point of having her accept a falsehood for the truth, thinking her too stupid ever to see the difference. But which of the two had deceived her so contemptibly?

She did not know, and that was worst of all. She could not know, because the jewel-cases were identical, because the rings were identical (or had seemed so to her eyes), and because it was impossible to say whether she had chosen to keep her husband's gift or the one from her lover. She tried vainly to remember. Now let's see: on the evening before her birthday, when she had locked the two cases in her secretary, had she put her husband's ring to the right? . . . or . . . She had often changed them about; she would never know. . . .

Now she was trying to reason, to study the characters of both men. Let's see, was her husband stingy, sly, selfish? She did not love him, but she had respected him till now. They had been married six years, and with what could she reproach him? . . . What were his real feelings toward her? . . . And Jacques? . . . Jacques, who was so tender, so considerate, who loved her so much . . . who seemed to love her so much. . . . Was he capable of . . . Think: would he have insisted so much on giving her a present if. . . . But, on the other hand, he may have been expecting her to ask for something that cost a few hundred francs, instead of thousands. . . .

Yvonne became distracted. She did not know; she would never know. When she tried to judge these two men who had divided her life between them, she had to acknowledge that both of them were strangers. IIow could she learn the truth? . . . There was no way out. She could not question them, it would mean revealing the whole story to the one who was innocent; the jeweller would tell her nothing . . . she would never know.

She suddenly recognized the street; it was her own. She went into the house. In a few hours she would see her husband; the following day she would pay a visit to her lover. . . . She shrugged her shoulders; she realized now that she hated them both. . . .