The two men looked into each other's eyes--the widower speechless
with astonishment; the jeweler scenting a thief. The latter broke the
silence.

"Will you leave this necklace here for twenty-four hours?" said he; "I
will give you a receipt."

Monsieur Lantin answered hastily: "Yes, certainly." Then, putting the
ticket in his pocket, he left the store.

He wandered aimlessly through the streets, his mind in a state of
dreadful confusion. He tried to reason, to understand. His wife could not
afford to purchase such a costly ornament. Certainly not.

But, then, it must have been a present!--a present!--a present,
from whom? Why was it given her?

He stopped, and remained standing in the middle of the street. A horrible
doubt entered his mind--She? Then, all the other jewels must have
been presents, too! The earth seemed to tremble beneath him--the
tree before him to be falling; he threw up his arms, and fell to the
ground, unconscious. He recovered his senses in a pharmacy, into which
the passers-by had borne him. He asked to be taken home, and, when he
reached the house, he shut himself up in his room, and wept until
nightfall. Finally, overcome with fatigue, he went to bed and fell into a
heavy sleep.

The sun awoke him next morning, and he began to dress slowly to go to the
office. It was hard to work after such shocks. He sent a letter to his
employer, requesting to be excused. Then he remembered that he had to