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The Three Necklaces
by
“To Lucien, feasting his eyes by stealth on the diamonds and counting the days to his relief, the stones meant that Jeanne and happiness were now close within his grasp. There would be difficulty, to be sure, in disposing of them; but with Jeanne’s advice–she had a practical mind–and perhaps with Jeanne’s help, the way would not be hard to find. He was inclined to plume himself on the ease with which, so far, it had been managed. His leaving the rings, and the gems sewn within the camisole–though to be sure these were not discovered for many hours–had been a masterstroke. He and his comrades had been complimented together upon their honesty.
“The relief came duly; and in this frame of mind–a little sly, but more than three parts triumphant–he returned to Ile Lezan and was made welcome as something of a hero. (To do him credit, he had worked hard in recovering the bodies from the wreck.) At all times it is good to arrive home after a spell on the lighthouse. The smell of nets drying and of flowers in the gardens, the faces on the quay, and the handshakes, and the first church-going–they all count. But to Lucien these things were for once as little compared with the secret he carried. His marriage now was assured, and that first evening–the Eve of Noel–he walked with Jeanne up the road to the cottage, and facing it, told her his secret. They could be married now. He promised it, and indicated the house with a wave of the hand almost proprietary.
“But Jeanne looked at him as one scared, and said: ‘Shall I marry a thief?’
“Then, very quietly, she asked for a look at the jewels, and he handed them to her. She had never set eyes on diamonds before, but all women have an instinct for jewels, and these made her gasp. ‘Yes,’ she owned, ‘I could not have believed that the world contained such beautiful things. I am sorry thou hast done this wickedness, but I understand how they tempted thee.’
“‘What is this you are chanting?’ demanded Lucien. ‘The stones were nothing to me. I thought only that by selling them we two could set up house as man and wife.’
“‘My dear one,’ said Jeanne, ‘what happiness could we have known with this between us?’ What with the diamonds in her hand and the little cottage there facing her, so long desired, she was forced to shut her eyes for a moment; but when she opened them again her voice was quite firm. ‘We must restore them where they belong. It may be that Pere Thomas can help us; but I must think of a way. Give them to me, and let me keep them while I think of a way.’
“‘You do not love me as I love you,’ said Lucien in his anger and disappointment; but he knew, all the same, that he spoke an untruth.
“Jeanne took the diamonds home with her, to her bedroom, and sat for some time on the edge of her bed, thinking out a way. In the midst of her thinking she stood up, walked over to the glass, and clasped the finest of the necklaces about her throat. . . . I suppose no woman of this country ever wore the like of it–no, not in the days when there were kings and queens of Leon. . . . Jeanne was not beautiful, but she gazed at herself with eyes like those of a patient in a fever. . . . Then of a sudden she felt the stones burning her as though they had been red-hot coals. She plucked them off, and cast herself on her knees beside the bed.”
“You will remember that this was the Eve of Noel, when the children of the parish help me to deck the creche for the infant Christ. We take down the images–see, there is St. Joseph, and there yonder Our Lady, in the side chapel; the two oxen and a sheep are put away in the vestry, in a cupboard full of camphor. We have the Three Kings too. . . . In short, we put our hearts into the dressing-up. By nightfall all is completed, and I turn the children out, reserving some few last touches which I invent to surprise them when they come again on Christmas morning. Afterwards I celebrate the Mass for the Vigil, and then always I follow what has been a custom in this parish, I believe, ever since the church was built. I blow out all the candles but two, and remain here, seated, until the day breaks, and the folk assemble to celebrate the first Mass of Noel. Eh? It is discipline, but I bring rugs, and I will not say that all the time my eyes are wide open.