Our stairs are thickly carpeted, and as I had on thin satin slippers and a crêpe tea-gown I made no noise at all coming up. I always have a light burning in my room, so when I saw a yellow gleam below the door I did not think anything of it, but just softly pushed the door open and went in. Then I stopped dead where I stood. A man with a soft felt-hat on, and a handkerchief tied over the lower part of his face, was standing in front of the bureau! He had not heard me, and for a moment I stood without making a sound, watching him. The two gas-jets on either side of the bureau were lit, and that part of the room was flooded with light. Very quickly and softly he was turning over the contents of the drawers, taking out laces, gloves, and veils, throwing them this way and that out of his way, and opening every box he found. My heart gave a great leap when I saw him seize upon the jewel-box, and my mouth, unfortunately, emitted some kind of a sound--I think it was a sort of gasp of relief, but I’m not sure. Whatever it was, he heard. He gave a start as if he had been electrified, raised his head, and saw me. For just one second he stood staring, and then he said something--of a profane character, I think--and ran for the balcony. And I ran too. There was something in the way--a little table, I believe--and he collided with it. That checked him for a moment, and I got to the window first. I threw myself across it with my arms spread out, in an attitude like that assumed by Sara Bernhardt when she is barring her lover’s exit in “Fedora.” But I don’t think any actress ever barred her lover’s exit with as much determination and zeal as I barred the exit of that burglar. “You can’t go!” I cried, wildly. “You’ve forgotten something!” He paused just in front of me, and I cried again: “You haven’t got them; they’re in the jewelry-box.” He moved forward and laid his hand on my arm, to push me aside. I felt quite desperate, and wailed: “Oh, don’t go without opening the jewelry-box. There are some things in it I know you will like.” He tried to push me out of the way--gently, it is true, but with force. But I clung to him, clasped him by the arm with what must have appeared quite an affectionate grip, and continued, imploringly: “Don’t be in such a hurry. I’m sorry I interrupted you. If you’ll promise not to go till you’ve looked through my things and taken what you want, I’ll leave the room. It was quite by accident that I came in.” The burglar let go my arm, and looked at me over the handkerchief with a pair of eyes that seemed quite kind and pleasant. “Really,” he said, in a deep, gentlemanly voice that seemed familiar--“really, I don’t quite understand--”