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 square clasp.
"A name?" asked Donald, thinking of the two initials.