the tricks
of persons who had second-hand treasures to sell.

"Is this chain yours?" he asked, coldly. "Do you bring it to sell to me?
All this is very strange. I wish I could remember--"

"Oh, no, indeed. Not to sell. Yes, the chain is mine, my sister's--my
uncle's, I mean--in America."

Monsieur drew back with added distrust, but he was reassured by Donald's
earnest tone. "Oh, Monsieur, pray recall all you can about this matter.
I cannot tell you how important it is to me--how anxious I am to hear!"

"Young man, your face is pale; you are in trouble. Come in and sit
down," leading the way into a small room behind the shop. "As for this
necklace, there is something--but I cannot think; it is something in the
past years that will not come back--Ah! I hear a customer; I must go.
Pardon me, I will return presently."

So saying, Monsieur left him. Bending slightly and taking short, quick
steps, he hurried into the shop. Donald thought the old man was gone for
an hour, though it really was only five minutes. But it had given him an
opportunity to collect his thoughts, and when Monsieur returned, Donald
was ready with a question:

"Perhaps a lady--a widow--brought the chain to you long ago, sir?"

[Illustration: MONSIEUR BAJEAU BECOMES INTERESTED IN DONALD'S CHAIN.]

"A widow!" exclaimed Monsieur, brightening, "a widow dressed in
black--yes, it comes back to me--a day, ten, twenty years ago--I see it
all! A lady--two ladies--no, one was a servant, a genteel nurse; both
wore black, and there was a little baby--two little babies--very little;
I see them now."

"Two!" exclaimed Donald, half wild with eagerness.

"Yes, two pink little fellows."

"Pink!" In a flash, Donald remembered the tiny pink sacque, now in his
valise at the hotel.

"Yes, pink little faces, with lace all around--very droll--the littlest
babies I ever saw taken into the street. Well, the pretty lady in black
carried one, and the nurse--she was a tall woman--carried the other."

"Yes, yes, please," urged Donald. He longed to help Monsieur on with the
account, but it would be better, he knew, to let him take his own way.

It all came out in time, little by little, but complete, at last. The
widow lady had gone to the old man's shop, with two infants and a tall
nurse. Taking from her purse a tiny gold key, she had unlocked a
necklace from one of the babies' necks, and requested Monsieur Bajeau to
engrave a name on the under side of its small squ