To the last days of her life she had continued to make purchases, bringing home new gems almost every evening, and he turned them over some time before finally deciding to sell the heavy necklace, which she seemed to prefer, and which, he thought, ought to be worth about six or seven francs; for it was of very fine workmanship, though only imitation.

He put it in his pocket, and started out in search of what seemed a reliable jeweler’s shop.  At length he found one, and went in, feeling a little ashamed to expose his misery, and also to offer such a worthless article for sale.

“Sir,” said he to the merchant, “I would like to know what this is worth.”

The man took the necklace, examined it, called his clerk, and made some remarks in an undertone; he then put the ornament back on the counter, and looked at it from a distance to judge of the effect.

Monsieur Lantin, annoyed at all these ceremonies, was on the point of saying:  “Oh!  I know well ’enough it is not worth anything,” when the jeweler said:  “Sir, that necklace is worth from twelve to fifteen thousand francs; but I could not buy it, unless you can tell me exactly where it came from.”

The widower opened his eyes wide and remained gaping, not comprehending the merchant’s meaning.  Finally he stammered:  “You say—­are you sure?” The other replied, drily:  “You can try elsewhere and see if any one will offer you more.  I consider it worth fifteen thousand at the most.  Come back; here, if you cannot do better.”

Monsieur Lantin, beside himself with astonishment, took up the necklace and left the store.  He wished time for reflection.

Once outside, he felt inclined to laugh, and said to himself:  “The fool!  Oh, the fool!  Had I only taken him at his word!  That jeweler cannot distinguish real diamonds from the imitation article.”

A few minutes after, he entered another store, in the Rue de la Paix.  As soon as the proprietor glanced at the necklace, he cried out: 

“Ah, parbleu!  I know it well; it was bought here.”

Monsieur Lantin, greatly disturbed, asked: 

“How much is it worth?”

“Well, I sold it for twenty thousand francs.  I am willing to take it back for eighteen thousand, when you inform me, according to our legal formality, how it came to be in your possession.”

This time, Monsieur Lantin was dumfounded.  He replied: 

“But—­but—­examine it well.  Until this moment I was under the impression that it was imitation.”

The jeweler asked: 

“What is your name, sir?”

“Lantin—­I am in the employ of the Minister of the Interior.  I live at number sixteen Rue des Martyrs.”

The merchant looked through his books, found the entry, and said:  “That necklace was sent to Madame Lantin’s address, sixteen Rue des Martyrs, July 20, 1876.”

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