"My dear, the bride's mother keeps the bride's necklace—and, when we do try it on, we will see how it looks by daylight."
In a minute more, Madame Fontaine was out in the street, on her way to the nearest jeweler.
CHAPTER IX
The widow stopped at a jeweler's window in the famous street called the Zeil. The only person in the shop was a simple-looking old man, sitting behind the counter, reading a newspaper.
She went in. "I have something to show you, sir," she said, in her softest and sweetest tones. The simple old man first looked at her thick veil, and then at the necklace. He lifted his hands in amazement and admiration. "May I examine these glorious pearls?" he asked—and looked at them through a magnifying glass, and weighed them in his hand. "I wonder you are not afraid to walk out alone in the dark, with such a necklace as this," he said. "May I send to my foreman, and let him see it?"
Madame Fontaine granted his request. He rang the bell which communicated with the work-rooms. Being now satisfied that she was speaking to the proprietor of the shop, she risked her first inquiry.
"Have you any necklace of imitation pearls which resembles my necklace?" she asked.
The old gentleman started, and looked harder than ever at the impenetrable veil. "Good heavens—no!" he exclaimed. "There is no such thing in all Frankfort.
"Could an imitation be made, sir?"