AN IMPORTANT INTERVIEW.
Donald, going to his room, laid the three Ellen-Lee letters upon the table before him and surveyed the situation That only one of them could be from the right Ellen Lee seemed evident; but which one? That was the question.
"This cannot be it," thought Donald, as he took up a badly written and much blotted sheet. "It is English-French, and evidently is in the handwriting of a man. Well, this brilliant person requests me to send one hundred francs to pay her expenses to Aix-la-Chapelle, and she will then prove her identity and receive the grateful reward. Thank you, my good man!—not if the court knows itself. We'll lay you aside for the present."
The next was from a woman—a bonne—who stated that by good nursing she had saved so many babies' lives in her day that she could not be sure which two babies this very kind "D. R." alluded to, but her name was Madame L. N. Lit. A wise friend had told her of this advertisement, and explained that as L. N. Lit in French and Ellen Lee in English had exactly the same sound, the inquirer probably was a native of Great Britain, and had made a very natural mistake in writing her name Ellen Lee. Therefore she had much pleasure in informing the kind advertiser that at present her address was No. — Rue St. Armand, Rouen, where she was well known, and that she would be truly happy to hear of something to her advantage. Donald shook his head very doubtfully, as he laid this letter aside. But the next he read twice, and even then he did not lay it down until he had read it again. It was a neatly written little note, and simply stated, in French, that D. R. could see Ellen Lee by calling at No.—Rue Soudière, Paris, and making inquiry for Madame René.
"An honest little note," was Donald's verdict, after carefully scrutinizing it, "and worth following up. The others can wait. I shall go to Paris and look up this Madame René. Yes, she shall receive a visit from his majesty."
Don was in high spirits, you see,—and no wonder. He already had accomplished a splendid day's work in visiting M. Bajeau, and here was at least a promising result from his advertisement. He longed to rush back at once to the quaint little shop, but he had been asked to come in the evening, and the old gentleman had a certain dignity of manner that Don respected. He felt that he must be patient and await the appointed hour.
It came at last, and by that time Donald had enjoyed a hearty meal, written to Mr. Wogg, and made all needed preparations to take the earliest train for Paris the next day.
M. Bajeau—good old man!—was made happy as a boy by the sight of Ellen Lee's letter.
"It is great good luck, my friend, that it should come to you," he said, in rapid French, his old cheeks faintly flushing with pleasure. "Now, you take my word, if she is tall, dark, fine-looking—this Madame René, eh?—you have found the very bonne who came to my little shop with the widow lady. Ask her about me—if she remember, eh? how I engraved the two letters with my own hand, while she stood by, holding the pink-faced baby—ha! ha!" (Here Monsieur rubbed his hands.) "She will remember! She will prove what I say, without doubt. She will know about the key to the necklace—yes, and the lock that has the air of a clasp. Let me see it again. You have it with you?"
Donald displayed the treasure promptly.