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Bailey had made a good
investment after all, for her pearls had increased in value in the two
years she had had them.
Be that as it may, the young widow often reminded herself that nothing
she had ever bought, and nothing that had ever been given her, had caused
her such lasting pleasure as her beloved string of pearls!
But on this pleasant June afternoon, in deference to her determined
friend's advice, she took off her pearls before starting out for
Montmartre, leaving the case in the charge of M. Girard, the genial
proprietor of the Hotel de l'Horloge.


CHAPTER II

With easy, leisurely steps, constantly stopping to look into the windows
of the quaint shops they passed on the way, Sylvia Bailey and Anna Wolsky
walked up the steep, the almost mountainous byways and narrow streets
which lead to the top of Montmartre.
The whole population seemed to have poured itself out in the open air on
this sunny day; even the shopkeepers had brought chairs out of their
shops and sat on the pavement, gaily laughing and gossiping together in
the eager way Parisians have.


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