"At last came the first ray of hope. One evening, in a sort of old curiosity shop, not far from the neighbourhood where he had been told to look for Marguerite Ribou, he fancied he caught sight, as he passed, of a picture resembling the well-remembered portrait of the baby Edmee. It was some little way back in the shop, and the owner was just closing for the night, so he could see no more. But with the first of the morning he was back again, waiting till the window was opened, and the contents exposed to view. It was a quiet street, and there were few people about. What were his feelings when, able at last to press his face against the glass and peer into the shop, he saw that his glance the night before had not deceived him! It was indeed the well-known portrait of his little lady. This time Pierre threw caution to the winds: he entered the shop boldly, and walking up to the picture, asked the old man behind the counter, just preparing to enjoy his early breakfast of a bowl of soup, if he could tell him from whence it had come. The shopman's first glance of suspicion--everybody in Paris looked at everybody else with suspicion, it seemed to simple Pierre-- fell before the boy's earnest and straightforward manner. "`Yes,' he said, `if you have any particular reason for wanting to know.' "`I have the best of reasons,' said Pierre. `It belongs--it belonged to the friends I owe most to in the world, and if they were not in great trouble, it would not be here.' "`You are right,' said the old man. `Many people to whom trouble is new are having a sharp taste of it now. I do not take any part in these things. I live as I have always done, and for my business it is a good time just now. You would wonder at the objects of value I have bought for almost nothing. It is not my fault. I cannot give more. And it will only be afterwards that I shall reap my benefit; when things recover themselves I daresay many will be glad to buy back at a profit the things I have. I should be glad to do the owners a good turn if I can, so I label the things carefully, and when I cannot get the real name I distinguish them somehow.' "`And thus,' said Pierre, beside himself with impatience, `you can tell me where this came from?' "`Yes,' said the old man, `for you seem honest and trustworthy. It came from some people living in the first street round the corner there,' and he pointed through the window, `the first street to the right. I do not know their name, but they have been there some time, and are, no doubt, as you say, in great trouble. I have several things of theirs--I mark them all with the name of the street and the number.' "`What is it?' asked Pierre breathlessly. "`Nine, number nine,' said the man, and scarcely waiting to thank him, young Germain, in a bewilderment of feeling, such as he had never known, rushed out of the shop and in the direction pointed out.