“Would you believe that I got twenty-five dollars for it? You know you said I might sell it for ten; but I got twenty-five, and I think I could have sold it for more easily. It is solid silver and an exquisite thing.”
“Yes, it was of the best workmanship,” sighed madame.
“But I must tell you how I happened to sell it for such a high price. It’s very strange, and perhaps you can throw some light on the matter. One of my best customers happened to come in last evening—Mrs. Lanier, of Jackson Street. You know Lanier, the banker. They are very rich people. She was looking over the things in my show-case, when she suddenly exclaimed as if surprised:
“Why, Madame Hortense, where did you get this?” I turned around, and she had the little jewel-box in her hand, examining it closely, and I saw that she was quite pale and excited.
“Of course I told her all I knew about it; that a friend had given it to me to sell, and so on. But she interrupted me by asking where my friend got it, and all sorts of questions; and all the while, she was looking at it as if she couldn’t imagine how it got there. I could only tell her that you gave it to me. Then she asked other questions, so excitedly that I couldn’t help showing my surprise. But I couldn’t give her the information she wanted, so I wrote your name and address for her, and told her to come and see you, and that you would be able to tell her all about it.”
During Madame Hortense’s hasty and rather confused narrative Madame Jozain turned an ashy white; and her eyes took on a hunted expression, while she followed with a set, ghastly smile every word of her friend’s story.
At length she found strength and composure to say:
“Why, no wonder you were surprised. Didn’t she tell you why she wanted to know?”
“I suppose she saw that I was very much puzzled, for after looking at it sadly for some time, she said that it was a mystery how it came there; that she had given that little casket to a schoolmate ten years before, while at school in New York; that she had had it made especially for her, and that her friend’s initials, J. C., were on it.”
“Dear, dear, only think! Some old schoolmate, I suppose,” said Madame Jozain hastily.