The door opened, and the young man entered, his tired face glowing with hope and satisfaction.  In his hand he held a little bundle; and sitting down, with no more than word of greeting, he hastily untied it upon his knee.

“Aren’t these her clothes?” asked he breathlessly, as he held up by one sleeve a little sky-blue merino-dress, with a torn lace undersleeve hanging from the shoulder, and in the other hand a pair of dainty little boots of bronze cloth.

Mrs. Legrange, with a wild cry, darted forward, and, grasping the pretty dress, buried her face in it, covering it with kisses, while she cried,—­

“Yes, yes!  O Tom! where is she?  Tell me quick, before my poor heart breaks with joy!”

Mr. Burroughs remained silent.  How could he say that he knew as little as ever how to answer this appeal?

“Where did you get them, Tom?” asked Mr. Legrange hurriedly.

“Billings found them in a pawn-broker’s shop.  You know we gave all the detectives a list of the clothing, and full description of the child.  Billings has been all over the city, examining at every pawn-broker’s shop all the children’s clothes brought in since we lost her, you know”—­

“Yes, yes!  And when”—­

“Last night he found this in a little out-of-the-way place (I didn’t stop to ask where), and, thinking they looked like the right thing, brought them to me.  I was asleep, and the people stupidly would not wake me:  so he waited; and this morning, when I rose, there he was.  I snatched the bundle, and came right along with it.  Now, of course, they’ll soon find who left them:  only, unluckily, they weren’t pawned, but sold outright; so they didn’t take the name; but the man thinks it was an old woman who sold them to him.  He is in custody; and we will go down and hear the examination, Paul.”

“Certainly, at once.”  And Mr. Legrange nervously buttoned his coat, and moved toward the door.

“It is to be at ten, and it is now half-past nine.  I suppose we had better go at once.  Good-by, dear cousin Fanny!” said Mr. Burroughs, looking sorrowfully at the wan face upraised to his, as the poor mother replied,—­

“Good-by, Tom! and oh, pray, do every thing, every thing, that can be done!  I cannot tell”—­

She was unable to finish, and the two men hurried away from the sight of a sorrow as yet without remedy.

The examination of the blear-eyed and stupid old pawn-broker resulted in very little satisfaction.  He believed that it was a woman who had sold him the bundle of child’s clothing.  He was not sure if it were an old or a young woman, but rather thought it was an old woman.  It might have been a week ago that he bought them; it might have been more, or it might have been less:  he didn’t set it down, and couldn’t say.

This was all; and, as nothing could be proved or even suspected of him in connection with ’Toinette’s disappearance, he was discharged from custody, although warned to hold himself in readiness to appear at any moment when he should be summoned.