"I am going to the Face Exchange, madame," said the girl resolutely.
The old woman looked at her stupefied. "The what?" she asked in a whisper.
"Madame has not heard of it? It is held once a year. Of course one may fail; one may not be able to strike a bargain—and even if one does, the miracle may not occur. But something tells me I shall be fortunate."
Madame de Val Fleury shrank back on the couch, frightened—she could not doubt that the girl was insane. After a moment, nerving herself to approach the bell, she stammered, "Yes, yes, I remember now. I daresay it is the best thing you can do. Good afternoon to you. I wish you every success." And as she sniffed at the smelling salts brought by her maid, she murmured, trembling, "Mad. How terrible! Quite, quite mad."
The incident did not fade from her mind. She thought of it in the night, and on the morrow, and when she took the sapphire and the snapped chain to her jeweller's. If the nonsense the poor creature talked had only been true! What ecstasy! And her tone had been perfectly sane. ... Oh, of course she was demented. Still—still, miracles did happen. Look at Lourdes! Every day madame de Val Fleury recalled the matter with a curiosity more intense, and regretted the alarm that had prevented her obtaining details.
Before a week had gone by, the curiosity drove her to make a purchase at the milliner's the girl had mentioned.
"You have a young person employed here who found a jewel that I lost," she remarked. "I don't see her in the shop."
"Yes, madame. No, madame—she is in the workroom. How fortunate that madame's sapphire was restored to her!"
"Ah, the workroom. Have you had her long? Is she satisfactory?"
"Ah yes, madame. About two years. I have no fault to find with her."