smile, her voice, every charm of his dead wife.

Time did not assuage his grief. Often, during office hours, while his
colleagues were discussing the topics of the day, his eyes would suddenly
fill with tears, and he would give vent to his grief in heartrending
sobs. Everything in his wife's room remained as it was during her
lifetime; all her furniture, even her clothing, being left as it was on
the day of her death. Here he was wont to seclude himself daily and think
of her who had been his treasure-the joy of his existence.

But life soon became a struggle. His income, which, in the hands of his
wife, covered all household expenses, was now no longer sufficient for
his own immediate wants; and he wondered how she could have managed to
buy such excellent wine and the rare delicacies which he could no longer
procure with his modest resources.

He incurred some debts, and was soon reduced to absolute poverty. One
morning, finding himself without a cent in his pocket, he resolved to
sell something, and immediately the thought occurred to him of disposing
of his wife's paste jewels, for he cherished in his heart a sort of
rancor against these "deceptions," which had always irritated him in the
past. The very sight of them spoiled, somewhat, the memory of his lost
darling.

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.