"Ah, yes! D. R.; now I see," as he turned them to the light. "D. R.,—that is strange! Now, I think I have seen those same engraved letters before. Why, my young friend, as I look at this little chain, something carries the years away and I am a younger man. It brings very much to mind—Hold!—No, it is all gone now. I must have made a mistake."
Donald's heart beat faster.
"Did you make the chain?" he asked.
"No, no, never. I never made a chain like it—but I have seen that chain before. The clasp is very—very—You know how it opens?"
"It is rusty inside," explained Donald, leaning forward anxiously, lest it should be injured. "We need not open it." Then controlling his excitement, he asked as calmly as he could:
"You have seen it before, Monsieur?"
"I have seen it. Where is the key?"
"The key, Monsieur? What do you mean?"
"The key that opens the clasp," returned the Frenchman, with sudden impatience. This American boy began to appear rather stupid in Monsieur's eyes. Donald looked at him in amazement.
"Does it lock?"