“Neither,” answered Chauvet. “It does not belong to any class of known gems. It is the ‘Eye of Rajuna’--and in ages past it was set in the centre of the forehead of the statue of an Assyrian queen. She was a strange person in her day--of strong and imperious primitive passions,--and she had rather a violent way of revenging herself for a wrong. She had a lover--all good-looking queens have lovers--it is only the ugly ones who are virtuous--and he grew tired of her in due course, as lovers generally tire----” “Do they?” put in Diana. “Of course they do! That’s why the bond of marriage was invented--to tie a man fast up to family duties so that he should not wander where he listeth--though he wanders just as much--but marriage is the only safeguard for his children. Rajuna, the Queen, however, did not approve of her lover’s wandering--and being, in her day, a great ruler, she could of course do as she liked with him. So she had him brought before her in chains, and slowly hacked to pieces in her presence--a little bit here and a little bit there, keeping him alive as long as possible so that he might see himself cut up--and finally when the psychological moment came, she had herself robed and crowned in full imperial style, and, taking a sharp knife in her own fair hands, cut out his heart _herself_ and threw it to her dogs in the palace courtyard below! This was one of the many jewels she wore on that historic occasion!--and it was afterwards placed in the forehead of the statue which her people erected to the memory of their ‘good and great Queen Rajuna!’” Diana listened with fascinated interest--her eyes fastened on the weird jewel, and her whole expression one of complete absorption in the horror of the story she had heard. She was silent so long that Chauvet grew impatient. “Well! What do you think of it all?” he demanded. “I think she--that Assyrian queen--was quite right!” she answered, slowly. “She gave her false lover, physically, what he had given her morally. He had hacked _her_ to pieces,--bit by bit!--he had taken her ideals, her hopes and confidences, and cut them all to shreds--and he had torn _her_ heart out from its place! Yes!--she was quite right!--a traitor deserves a traitor’s death!--I would have done the same myself!” He stared and glowered frowningly. “You? _You_,--a gentle Englishwoman?--you would have done the same?” She took the jewel from its case and held it up to the light, its red brilliance making her slender fingers rosy-tipped. “Yes, I would!” and she smiled strangely. “I think women are all made in much the same mould, whether English or Assyrian! There is nothing they resent so deeply as treachery in love.” “Yet they are treacherous themselves pretty often!” said the Professor. “When they are they are not real women,” declared Diana. “They are pussy-cats,--toys! A true woman loves once and loves always!” He looked at her askance.