She was in a pretty room on the first floor. It had rose blinds and heavy curtains, and had been furnished in subdued and artistic style by a famous firm of decorators; she knew the room well, and it had always been at her disposition. Her heart had throbbed more agreeably, but never so nervously, there, as it did this Sunday morning whilst the church bells jangled and boomed in her ears, and the warm steam of a _calorifère_ heating a foggy atmosphere, made her feel sick and faint. In a few moments the jeweler was announced--a slender, frail, fair man of some sixty-five years old, who saluted her gracefully, and in return had a haughty stare which revealed to him forcibly that he was a tradesman and she was a gentlewoman. Beaumont, who was accustomed to different treatment, said to himself that she wanted a lesson. Nothing costs us so dear in this world as our pride, and if we cannot afford to purchase the privilege of its indulgence the world will make us smart for claiming so great a luxury. The deep black of her attire, so trying to most of her sex, only made fairer her skin, made brighter her hair and her eyes, and lent a richer rose to her lips; she looked extremely well, though she looked cross and anxious as she saw the jeweler enter. “Good morning, Beaumont!” she said sharply. “Have you brought the jewels?” He smiled: the question seemed to him of an extraordinary _naïveté_ for a lady who knew the world so well. “I do not carry jewels in my pocket, madame,” he replied. “I am here to speak of yours.” “Didn’t you get my letter?” “Yes, madame; am I not here by your appointment?” “But I ordered you to bring the diamonds?” she asked with that brusque authority which was part of her being. “I came to speak of the transaction, madame,” he repeated and smiled. The cool audacity of her manner and commands diverted him. He perceived that she had no intention of paying him. “The cocotte has never been born,” he thought, “who could hold a candle to a great lady for impudence.” If she had asked him to sit down he still would have refrained from troubling her; but she said no syllable that was civil; she continued to look at her creditor with haughty impatience. “Be quick about what you have to say then,” she remarked; “I can only stay a few moments here; I am going to church.” A creditor, if deftly treated as a Buddha of power and sanctity, may be disarmed, for, although a creditor, he is human. But if he be “cheeked” and treated as of no importance he is naturally moved to use his thunderbolt and assert his godhead. Beaumont sat down without invitation or permission, and she, to show her disgust at such familiarity, rose and remained standing. “Madame,” he said very politely, “have you forgotten the paper which you signed?”