such a worthless article for sale.

"Sir," said he to the merchant, "I would like to know what this is
worth."

The man took the necklace, examined it, called his clerk and made some
remarks in an undertone; then he put the ornament back on the counter,
and looked at it from a distance to judge of the effect.

M. Lantin was annoyed by all this detail and was on the point of
saying: "Oh! I know well enough it is not worth anything," when the
jeweler said: "Sir, that necklace is worth from twelve to fifteen
thousand francs; but I could not buy it unless you tell me now whence
it comes."

The widower opened his eyes wide and remained gaping, not comprehending
the merchant's meaning. Finally he stammered: "You say--are you sure?"
The other replied dryly: "You can search elsewhere and see if anyone
will offer you more. I consider it worth fifteen thousand at the most.
Come back here if you cannot do better."

M. Lantin, beside himself with astonishment, took up the necklace and
left the store. He wished time for reflection.

Once outside, he felt inclined to laugh, and said to himself: "The
fool! Had I only taken him at his word! That jeweler cannot distinguish
real diamonds from paste."

A few minutes after, he entered another store in the Rue de la Paix. As
soon as the proprietor glanced at the necklace, he cried out:

"Ah, parbleu! I know it well; it was bought here."

M. Lantin was disturbed, and asked:

"How much is it worth?"

"Well, I sold it for twenty thousand francs. I am willing to take it
back for eighteen thousand when you inform me, according to our legal
formality, how it comes to be in your possession."

This time M. Lantin was dumfounded. He replied:

"But--but--examine it well. Until this moment I was under the
impression that it was paste."

Said the jeweler:

"What is your name, sir?"

"Lantin--I am in the employ of the Minister of the Interior. I live at
No. 16 Rue des Martyrs."

The merchant looked through his books, found the entry, and said: "That
necklace was sent to Mme. Lantin's address, 16 Rue des Martyrs, July
20, 1876."

The two men looked into each other's eyes--the widower speechless with
astonishment, the jeweler scenting a thief. The latter broke the
silence by saying:

"Will you leave this necklace here for twenty-four hours? I will give
you a receipt."

"Certainly," answered M. Lantin, hastily. Then, putting the ticket in
his pocket, he left the store.

He wa