CHAPTER XIX. It was a precious thing, a beautiful cabochon—do you know what that is?” “What’s a cabochon?” “It’s a precious jewel that doesn’t have facets yet. "But we must be getting along if we are to lunch in the tower of the water-clock. “Please forgive me—for one moment,” she sobbed. ” He awoke. ‘But it is not on the horse at all, Jacques. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik.
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