d the leading shops where jewelry and fancy goods
were sold or manufactured. These were not numerous, and some of them had
not been in existence fifteen years before, at the time when the
sad-hearted widow and her party were there. There was no distinctive
maker's mark on the necklace from which Donald had hoped so much, and no
one knew anything about it, nor cared to give it any attention, unless
the young gentleman wished to sell it. Then they might give a trifle. It
was not a very rare antique, they said, valuable from its age; jewelry
simply out of date was worth only its weight, and a little chain like
this was a mere nothing. As Donald was returning to his hotel, weary and
inclined to be dispirited, he roused himself to look for _Rue de
Corderie, numero 47_, or, as we Americans would say, Number 47 Corderie
Street. As this house is famous as the birthplace of Bernardin de St.
Pierre, author of "Paul and Virginia," Donald wished to see it for
himself, and also to be able to describe it to Dorothy. He did not visit
it on that day, however; for on his way thither his attention was
arrested by a very small shop which he had not noticed before, and
which, in the new-looking city of Havre, appeared to be fully a century
old. Entering, he was struck with the oddity of its interior. The place
was small, not larger than the smallest room at Lakewood, and though its
front window displayed only watches, and a notice in French and English
that Monsieur Bajeau repaired jewelry at short notice, it was so crowded
with rare furniture and bric-a-brac that Donald, for a moment, thought
he had entered the wrong shop. But, no! There hung the watches, in full
sight, and a bright-faced old man in a black skull-cap was industriously
repairing a bracelet.

"May I see the proprietor of this store, please?" asked Donald,
politely.

"Oui, Monsieur," replied the old man, with equal courtesy, rising and
stepping forward. "Je suis--I am ze poprietaire, je ne comprend pas. I
no speak ze Ingleesh. Parlez-vous Francais--eh?"

"Oh, yes," said Donald, too full of his errand to be conscious that he
was not speaking French, as he carefully took a little red velvet case
from an inside pocket, "I wished to show you this necklace--to ask if
you--"

The old man listened with rather an aggrieved air. "Ah! Eh! I sall
re-paire it, you say?" then adding wistfully, "You no speak ze French?"

"Oui, oui, Monsieur,--pardonnez," said Donald, thus reminded. F