To him they were beautiful toys.
Whenever he was angry, they soothed him; whenever he was happy, they
rounded out this happiness; they were his variant moods.
He played a magnificent game. Round the diamonds he would make a
circle of the palest turquoises. Upon this pyramid of brilliants he
would place some great ruby, sapphire, or emerald. Then his servants
were commanded to raise and lower the window-curtains alternately.
These shifting contra-lights put a strange life into the gems; they not
only scintillated, they breathed. Or, perhaps the pyramid would be of
emeralds; and he would peer into their cool green depths as he might
have peered into the sea.
He kept these treasures in an ornamented iron-chest, old, battered, of
simple mechanism. It had been his father's and his father's father's;
it had been in the family since the days of the Peacock Throne, and
most of the jewels besides. Night and day the chest was guarded. It
lay upon an ancient Ispahan rug, in the center of the bedroom, which no
hotel servant was permitted to enter.
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