She felt its presence in every throb of her heart. It was a part of her, at once her justification and her crown. It was no longer an adornment but a blazing and convincing symbol of herself. For a while there was an almost awestruck silence. The lovely Beatrix Vanleer, a Belgian sculptress, cried out in her astonishment and admiration. The smile of gentle intoxication faded from Eva’s face, and her eyes turned far in their sockets, and she saw Amadeus Voss, whose face was of a bluish pallor. His mouth was half open like an imbecile’s, his head thrust brutally forward, his hanging arms twitched. He approached slowly, with eyes staring at the ineffable glow of the jewel. Those who stood on either side of him were frightened and made way. Eva turned her face aside, and stepped back two paces. Susan emerged beside her, and laid protective arms about her. At the same moment Christian went up to Voss, grasped his hand, and drew the quite obedient man aside. Christian’s attitude and expression had something that calmed every one. As though nothing had happened, a vivid and twittering conversation arose. Voss and Christian stood on the balcony of stone. Voss drank the salt sea air deep into his lungs. He asked hoarsely: “Was that Ignifer?” Christian nodded. He listened to the sea. The waves thundered like falling fragments of rock. “I have grasped the whole secret of your race,” Amadeus murmured, and the convulsion in his face melted under the influence of Christian’s presence. “I have understood both man and woman. In this diamond are frozen your tears and your shudderings, your voluptuousness and your darkness too. It is a bribe and an accursed delusion, a terrible fetish! How keenly aware am I now of your days and nights, Wahnschaffe, of all that is between you and her, since I have seen the gleam of this mineral which the Lord created out of the slime, even as He created me and you and her. That stone is without pain--earthly, and utterly without pain, burned pure and merciless. My God, my God, and think of me, of me!” Christian did not understand this outburst, but it shook him to the soul. Its power swept aside the vexation which Voss’s shameless eloquence had aroused. He listened to the sea. Voss pulled himself together. He went up to the balustrade, and said with unnatural self-control, “You counselled patience to-day. What was your purpose? It sounded as equivocal and as general as all you say to me. It is convenient to talk of patience. It is a luxury like any other luxury at your command, only less costly. There is no word, however, worthier of hatred or contempt. It is always false. Closely looked upon, it means cowardice and sloth. What have you in mind?” Christian did not answer. Or, rather, he assumed having answered; and after a long while, and out of deep meditation, he asked: “Do you believe that it is of any use?” “I don’t understand,” said Voss, and looked at him helplessly. “Use? To what end or how?”