“In a moment,” she said, smiling brightly; “let me fill these molds first, then I’ll wash my hands, and I’m done for to-day.”
Paichoux made no reply, but walked about the dairy, peering into the pans of rich milk, and whistling softly.
Suddenly, Tante Modeste uttered an exclamation of surprise. She had opened the paper, and was holding up a beautiful watch by its exquisitely wrought chain.
“Why, papa, where in the world did you get this?” she asked, as she turned it over and over, and examined first one side and then the other. “Blue enamel, a band of diamonds on the rim, a leaf in diamonds on one side, a monogram on the other. What are the letters?—the stones sparkle so, I can hardly make them out. J, yes, it’s a J, and a C. Why, those are the very initials on that child’s clothes! Paichoux, where did you get this watch, and whose is it?”
“Why, it’s mine,” replied Paichoux, with exasperating coolness. He was standing before Tante Modeste, with his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, whistling in his easy way. “It’s mine, and I bought it.”
“Bought it! Where did you buy a watch like this, and wrapped up in newspaper, too? Do tell me where you got it, Paichoux,” cried Tante Modeste, very much puzzled, and very impatient.
“I bought it in the Recorder’s Court.”
“In the Recorder’s Court?” echoed Tante Modeste, more and more puzzled. “From whom did you buy it?”
“From Raste Jozain.”
Tante Modeste looked at her husband with wide eyes and parted lips, and said nothing for several seconds; then she exclaimed, “I told you so!”