She was as placid as she was on other, less important nights, far more placid than she would have been if she had known that she was guarding not only my jewellery, but a famous diamond necklace, worth at least five hundred thousand francs.
There it was, under the lowest tray of my jewel box.

I had felt perfectly safe in leaving it there, for I knew that nothing on earth--short of a bomb explosion--could tempt the good creature out of my dressing-room in my absence, and that even if a bomb did explode, she would try to be blown up with my jewel box clutched in her hands.
Saying nothing to Marianne, who was brushing a little stage dust off my third act dress, with my back to her I took out tray after tray from the box (which always came with us to the theatre and went away again in my carriage) until the electric light over the dressing table set the diamonds on fire.
Really, I said to myself, they were wonderful stones.

I had no idea how magnificent they were.

Not that there were a great many of them.

The necklace was composed of a single row of diamonds, with six flat tassels depending from it.