the price was a matter about which he was not entirely inflexible. The colonel now turned to me. "Do you not think they are fine, Miss Harper? And do they not become my wife?" For an instant I hesitated. Then,

"Yes, certainly, Colonel Thompson. If your wife goes to grand dinners and great balls, they become her perfectly." "Why, of course I go to dinners and balls-at home," said Mrs. Thompson, opening her eyes in surprise.

"Then, if my husband could afford the jewels, and I was willing to put all that money into diamonds, I should buy the necklace."

The Frenchman gave me an evil look. He had evidently jumped at the possible sale as at something quite unexpected, and he resented my air of cool consideration.

"Madame is very beautiful in diamonds," he remarked to the doting husband.

"I have always wanted to see you wear diamonds, Hetty," he said, softly. "But these, no; they are far too costly."

She thrust them from her with her hands; with her sparkling eyes she held them and devoured their dazzling splendor.

Here the colonel stepped aside and entered into a whispered conversation with M. Vigot, doubtless in reference to the eighty thousand francs.

His wife watched them anxiously, consumed with desire for the gems, while far from satisfied that the purchase ought to be made.

"I see you think it would be wrong, Miss Harper," she murmured.

"I? Not in the least, my dear Mrs. Thompson. I have neither the right nor the opportunity to judge. You Americans are all rich, you know."

"But we are not rich-not in the way you mean. Only my husband is so -so fond of me, and so generous. He would have to make a sacrifice"If it makes him happygested.

"I sug

"Ah, he is so good to me." She sighed softly, and there was a mist like tears in her eyes. The cup of her gratitude was full to the brim.

Just then the colonel and the French

man approached, the former smiling but agitated, I thought, the latter rubbing his hands and bowing as only a Parisian who fait des compliments can bow. Evidently the first act of the drama was over. The purchase had been made.

'My dear, you shall have the necklace for your Christmas gift." He laid it once more to her throat caressingly. "Don't be overcome, Hetty" (as the mist gathered and one large tear stood on her dark lashes). "Monsieur is not going to be so hard on me as he threatened. It will not cost as much as eighty thousand francs."

I think, between her gratitude and her doubt as to the expediency of the purchase, the colonel's wife wanted to sit down and weep; but she controlled herself admirably, and began to lay the necklace carefully in its black velvet case.

"We will leave it to be sent up tomorrow," said the colonel. "There is to be a small plate with your name added to the under side of the largest cluster."

She looked at him quickly. Could they trust this M. Vigot to give them the necklace just as it was? was the unmistakable question asked by her eyes.

"I am to pay for it, in cash, when it is delivered," he remarked; adding, laughingly: "it will about finish my letter of credit. It is a good thing we are going to start day after to-morrow, Hetty." She turned away reluctantly.

"It seems a risk to leave it," she said half to herself. "One cannot trust these Frenchmen out of sight."

"Or in sight either," I supplemented; "they can cheat you under your very eyes.

It was a fortnight later, Christmas Eve, in fact, and a most dismal day, when all the beau temps which had so surprised us early in December had been forgotten in the icy mists of real Parisian winter weather.

I sat in my little private parlor, feeling somewhat depressed, when suddenly a volley of agitated raps fell upon the door. In answer to my weary Entrez, there burst into the room almost unceremoniously (only a Frenchman never quite forgets to affect ceremony) none other than Monsieur Vigot. I knew him instantly, in spite of a certain wildness of aspect which almost threatened to destroy his deportment.

"Ah, mademoiselle-grâce à Dieu! I have found you. And you-you at least can tell me

were ze intimate one-ze frien' of madame! You do not know where she lif?"

"I certainly do not."

He sat down suddenly, a profuse perspiration breaking out upon his convulsed features.

"But you know ze name of ze cornel? Is it not so, chère mademoiselle ? "I do not even know his name, mousieur."

The wretched little man jumped up and began pacing the room, wringing his hands in truly dramatic style.

"Oh, mon Dieu! mon Dieu!—my diamonds!" he cried, the tears running down his cheeks-a picture of irresistibly ludicrous despair. Consumed with curiosity as I was, I would not condescend to question the man, whose every look and gesture impressed meHeaven forgive me!-as a bit of melodrama, now comic, now tragic, always to further some purpose of his own.

"Oh," he sobbed, turning his dishevelled countenance towards me, "if ze bon Dieu would only help me! Is zere not also Americaines in ze house, mademoiselle?"

I told him there were several; and he begged me, in the name of the good God, and the good devil, and half the saints in the calendar, to assemble them in my sitting-room, which I did with some difficulty.

When everybody had arrived (fortunately, the awful weather had kept us indoors for the moment) M. Vigot began to interrogate them, collectively and individually, about the colonel's whereabouts. As I had anticipated, no one knew anything of him or of his wife, and I could detect in the half-curious, half-I-told-you-so air of those present that they were not altogether unprepared to listen to something dubious in reference to their absent compatriot. ("I never did trust that man," the lady from Boston remarked under her breath.)

The Frenchman's demeanor could no longer conceal his state of mind. He capered about like one in physical torture; and it was only after many incoherencies, and much hysterical reiteration of appeals to the Almighty and the saints, that we got at bottom facts

The story was this:

The colonel being seized with a passion to get for his wife jewels which he candidly admitted himself to be entirely unable to pay for, he-M. Vigot-had hit upon the admirable plan that from a magnificent assortment of imitation diamonds-transcendently beautiful imitation diamonds!-he could in two days make a necklace precisely like the coveted one.

"In two days! Mon Dieu! only to think of ze haste-ze skill-ze labor! And it was produced; a work of art so like ze eighty zousand francs article zat no one-not ze cor-nel, not madame -only an expert, could distinguish. And all for ze sum of one zousand francs!"

"And did he let you do it?" I queried indignantly, recalling the pretty wife's emotion.

"Did he let me do it? Mais oui, mademoiselle. Why not? Of course

I do it. I slave day and night. I make it-it is superbe! Of paste, you understand, but such paste! Oh, mon Dieu! -and ze cor-nel, he is transported; he "

Here the lady from Boston interrupted the Frenchman's flow of impassioned eloquence.

"He went away without paying you, I suppose."

66

Pay me? Oh, yes; he pay meone zousand francs-two hundred dollars, madame. It was ze bargain-ze cor-nel was allr-right, as you say. But mesdames, messieurs-only conceive, I haf given him ze wrong necklace!"

Had a bombshell been exploded in the pension, it could not have created greater consternation. Everybody stared at everybody else, and one or two, unable to resist the comical side of the situation, withdrew silently into the hall to smother their risibility. But it was genuine misery for the Frenchman, who sat weeping copiously. In the unlooked-for second act to his little drama, the tragedy was not all acting; and for once I beheld what an individual of the Parisian world is like when he is not doing anything for effect. He called upon his eighty thousand francs—“ six

ness that they were the honest price of his gems, and that in losing them he was eternally lost.

And was the mistake entirely your own?" we asked.

"Mon Dieu, oui, mesdames! Zey were so magnifiques-ze jewels of paste, you perceive-zat I am myself deceived. I put zem togezzer to compare-zere is no appreciable difference. I haf myself selected ze wrong necklace.

And ze cor-nel-he does not knowhe will neffer know!"

We inquired how he had discovered the mistake. "It was ze English milord who wished to buy ze necklace for milady. Naturellement, he desires to obtain ze opinion of some ozzer connoisseur. noisseur. An expert is consulted, and voilà! Even to myself it is proved ze diamonds are false.

I confess it flashed through my mind that the other diamonds also might be false, and that this scene was resorted to because "milord" had made it unpleasant for M. Vigot. However, I tried to believe in the Frenchman, and suggested that the colonel would be certain to find out sooner or later that the gems were genuine.

"How will he make ze discovery, mademoiselle? Is it likely he will suggest a doubt to madame, who naturellement believes her diamonds to be stones of ze first lustre ?"

"Listen," I said, wishing to give him a grain of comfort. "I am sure that madame had some feeling of suspicion that in fact, that the necklace might have been tampered with before it was sent to her. She will in all probability take it to a jeweller and have it ap praised."

"And zen," cried M. Vigot, not at all hurt by the incidental aspersion upon his honesty; "ze jeweller, he will say it is of value seventy-eighty zousand francs! And she will be satisfied. She will not mention to monsieur ze cor-nel zat she haf suspected his gift."

"Perhaps," I hazarded, "the colonel will grow tired of her gratitude, or of her incessant care of the necklace, and will tell her the jewels are paste. "Neffer!" he moaned.

Monsieur

ze cor-nel will neffer tell her. He likes too well what you call ze gratitude." "Telegraph to all the banks of exchange," said some one.

"I haf already done so. I can find no single M. Tom-song who is ze cor-nel.' "You can telegraph to the ship's office in Antwerp," I suggested. "Mesdemoiselles, it is done. He haf registered Cor-nel Tom-song, Paris.'" Then cable to New York."

"That also I haf achieved. It has cost me many francs. Zey haf disappeared from ze steamer's landing, wiz my necklace-my eighty zousand francs --and I haf-only zis!

wondered once more if, in spite of his tears, maybe-maybe M. Vigot was playing us all a trick, and paste or no paste, the trinket was the same. Once, some years before, I had had occasion to select a piece of jewelry in Parisbut that is another story.

The lady from Boston regarded the dazzling clusters of diamonds in stern silence, and then remarked, before turning to leave the room,

Well, Mister Vigot, I suppose you will have no difficulty in selling this necklace for eighty thousand francs to the next rich American fool who comes along. A Frenchman is hard to get ahead of, and you will doubtless find some way to come out even with Fate in this matter."

"Madame," said the Frenchman, brightening considerably, "Je vous remercie." L. CLARKSON.

ELEANOR WADDLE.

audible in the stillness of the night, could be heard the roar and crash of the breakers on the ocean side of the island. Turning in that direction, the Highland lights loomed up at Sandy Hook, ten miles away. But near at hand, like silhouettes against the grayish skyline, were horses, moving aimlessly about, some with heads erect and ears apeak, as though hearkening to the voice of Nature; others were dragging their noses along the ground in search of tufts of the rank salt grass-all abandoned to despair, and alike indifferent to the coming of night.

ARREN ISLAND was as desolate as Terra del Fuego. Within an hour of New York, it was an unvisited region. For many years the street-car companies of the great city had sent their worn-out horses there to die. Some of the animals recovered sufficiently to be sold to the Long Island farmers, but most of them succumbed to exposure and want of care.

I had come across Canarsie Bay in a small sail-boat during the afternoon to describe the condition of things on the island, for there was a rumor current that a newly organized Humane Society was about to intervene, and stop the sending of blind and maimed horses to that drear place. The new society had decided that the only cure for a brokendown horse is death. It had law enough on its side to enforce the most arbitrary decree.

The wandering animals could not have been more unreal had they been spectral steeds, revisiting an earthly browsing place.

It

The more I pondered over my position, the more vexatious it grew. was a raw November night; not a place of shelter as large as a packing box had I seen in my walk about the island during the afternoon, and the weird loneliness of the surroundings was exceedingly depressing. I tried to be a philosopher, to put the best aspect upon the situation; but my spirits were at a very low ebb. Suppose the boatman utterly forgot me. No chance visitor was likely

Therefore was I at Barren Island, and, what was more important to me just then, likely to remain there for the night. The boatman who was to have returned for me was not in sight. I remembered that he had said his wife was very ill, and that he feared he'd find her dead on his return; but so intent had I been upon my mission, that I had persuaded him to bring me over. During his absence the catastrophe had probably occurred. He had forgotten

me.

I foresaw a night of wretchedness ahead. True, I was warmly dressed, and had not, up to this time, suffered with the cold; but it was a keen breeze that blew across the island, fresh from the Atlantic. Far across the bay were the widely scattered lights at Canarsie, but not a single white sail was visible on the dark expanse of waters between. Behind me, half a mile away, but clearly

"Singing?" I thought, and reasoned, "Am I bewitched already?"

Again I heard the sounds; and-what