It was late one afternoon in the middle of July that the crash came. Never, never shall I forget that day! So dark and awful at first, and then-- But I must follow the story just as it happened. Herbert and I had had tea in the library. It was warm weather, and the windows that led to the terrace were wide open. Through them I could see the beautiful landscape--rolling hills with great trees dotted over them, all the colors brighter and deeper than at midday, for the sun was getting low. I was sitting by one of the windows looking out on this, and thinking how different had been my feelings when I had come here as a bride and loved it all, and been so full of joy. My hands hung limp over the arms of the chair. I had no desire to move or speak. It is so agonizing, when you are miserable, looking back on days that were happy! As I was sitting this way, Thomas, one of the footmen, came in with the letters. I noticed that he had quite a packet of them. Some were mine, and I laid them on the table at my elbow. Idly and without interest I saw that in Herbert’s bunch there was a small box, such as jewelry is sent about in. Thomas left the room, and I continued looking out of the window until I suddenly heard Herbert give a suppressed exclamation. I turned toward him, and saw that he had the open box in his hand. “What does this mean?” he said. “What an extraordinary thing! Look here, Gladys.” And he came toward me, holding out the box. It was full of cotton wool, and lying on this were a great quantity of unset diamonds of different sizes. My heart gave a leap into my throat. I sat up, clutching the arms of the chair. “What are they?” I said, hearing my voice suddenly high and loud. “Where did they come from?” “I don’t know anything about them! It’s too odd! See what’s written on this piece of paper that was inside the box.” He held out a small piece of paper, on which the creases of several folds were plainly marked. Across it, in typing, ran two sentences. I snatched the paper and read the words: We don’t want _your_ diamonds. You can keep them, and with them accept our kind regards. The paper fluttered to my feet. I knew in a moment what it all meant. The thieves had discovered that the diamonds were paste, and had returned them. I was conscious of Herbert’s startled face suddenly charged with an expression of sharp anxiety as he cried: “Why, Gladys, what is it? You’re as white as death!” He came toward me, but I motioned him away and rose to my feet. I knew then that the hour had come, and tho I suspect I _was_ very white, I did not feel so frightened as I had done in the past. “Those _are_ your diamonds, Herbert,” I said, quietly and distinctly, “or, perhaps, I ought to say those are the substitutes for them. _Your_ diamonds are in Paris, at Barriere’s, _au quatrème_, on the Rue Croix des Petits Champs.”