ever, appeared bent upon ministering to her vanity: I learned that he was making her presents. "I have given her a pair of earrings," he announced, "and she is wearing them now. Do notice them as you pass. They are great big amethysts, and are extremely becoming."
I looked out for our beautiful friend the next time I left the house, but she was not visible through the hairdresser's window. Her plainer companion was waiting upon a fine lady, presumably one of the duchesses, while Madame Théodolinde herself, I supposed, was posturing before one of the mirrors in the inner apartment with Sanguinetti's big amethysts in her ears.
One day he told me that he had determined to buy her a parure, and he greatly wished I would come and help him choose it. I called him an extravagant dog, but I good-naturedly consented to accompany him to the jeweler's. He led me to the Palais Royal, and there, somewhat to my surprise, introduced me into one of those dazzling little shops which wear upon their front in neat gilt letters the candid announcement, "Imitation." Here you may purchase any number of glittering gems for the most trifling sum, and indulge at a moderate expense a pardonable taste for splendor. And the splendor is most effective, the glitter of the counterfeit jewels most natural. It is only the sentiment
