th all her charm to soften the
jewel doctor. "Let me take it with me to Russia. I will make you rich."

Safti shook his head.

"The Princess may wear it here, in Tunis," he replied. "Not elsewhere."

She began to temporise, hoping to conquer his resistance later.

"I may take it with me now?" she asked.

"At a fee."

"I will pay it."

The jewel doctor went to the door, and called in Abdul. Five minutes
later the Princess passed the singing Arab at the corner of the street,
Rue Ben-Ziad. She had signed a paper pledging herself to return the
emerald to Safti at the end of forty-eight hours, and to pay 125 francs
for her possession of it during that time. And she wore the emerald on
the forefinger of her left hand.

On the following morning Madame de Rosnikoff said to the Princess:

"I hate Tunis. It has an evil climate. The tea here is too strong, and
I feel sure the drains are bad. Last night I was feverish. I am always
feverish when I am near bad drains."

The Princess, who had slept well, and had waked with no pain in her
eyes, answered these complaints cheerily, made the Countess some tea
that was really weak, and drove her out in the sunshine to see Carthage.
The Countess did not see it, because there is no longer a Carthage. She
went to bed that night in a bad humour, and again complained of drains
the next morning. This time the Princess did not heed her, for she was
thinking of the hour when she must return the emerald to Safti.

"What an ugly ring that is," said the old Countess. "Where did you get
it? It is too small. Why do you wear it?"

"I--I bought it in the bazaars," answered the Princess.

"My dear, you wasted your money," said the companion; and she went to
bed with another French novel.

That afternoon the Princess implored Safti to sell her the emerald,
and as he persistently declined she renewed her lease of it for another
forty-eight hours. As she left the jewel doctor's home she did not
notice that he spoke some words in a low and eager voice to Abdul,
pointing towards her as he did so. Nor did she see the strange bustle of
varied life in the street as she walked slowly under the great Moorish
arch of the Porte de France. She was deeply thoughtful.

Since she had worn the ugly ring of Safti she had suffered no pain from
her eyes, and a strange certainty had gradually come upon her that,
while the emerald was in her possession, she would be safe from the
terrible disease of which she