huntress
and man the hunted. She was not content to leave me alone. Somehow,
because I was simply not interested in her, she became more and more
determined. She wrote me little billets-doux and bribed the
concierge to act as go-between. But it wasn't any use, and to this day
I marvel that such a charming creature should have bothered over a poor
awkward cold youth like myself.
Yet,
though I never became her customer, she was to be mine in the end. Some
years after my Paris days, when all memory of her had faded from my
mind, I met her again. No, not in rags in the gutter, but as radiantly
beautiful as ever and "settled down"—that is, she was being kept by a
wealthy and generous Argentinian and had quite made up her mind to be
true to him, because she was tired of the gay life. She was after more
emeralds and had heard that I had an exceedingly fine Colombian emerald
for sale. I sold it to her, and as we parted, I with a bow, she put out
a hand and laid it on my arm. "You know, mon cerni, that my
grand passion was and is for one who scorned me. I should hate you for
it. But no, I remain your friend. I will even pray for you when I come
to my second childhood and take to religion."
But
if I had been Margot's grand passion, I at least shared her heart with
emeralds. When I think of that strange unruly woman I think of the
green stones, and whether for this or another reason they are by far my
favourites among gems. From the point of view of hardness it is
inferior to the ruby (8.5) and the sapphire (9), being only 7.5. It is
therefore much softer than either of the other two precious stones, but
I do not consider that