Yet what could he do with it?
Even so, he could keep it.

It could still be his till better days came.
The auctioneer's voice told off the value of the fruitdish--"As an heirloom, as an antique; as a piece of workmanship impossible of duplication in these days of no handicraft; as good pure silver, bearing the head of Louis Quinze--beautiful, marvellous, historic, honourable," and Jean Jacques made ready to bid.

Then he remembered he had no money--he who all his life had been able to take a roll of bills from his pocket as another man took a packet of letters.

His glance fell in shame, and the words died on his lips, even as M.Manotel, the auctioneer, was about to add another five-dollar bid to the price, which already was standing at forty dollars.
It was at this moment Jean Jacques heard a woman's voice bidding, then two women's voices.

Looking up he saw that one of the women was Mere Langlois and the other was Virginie Poucette, who had made the first bid.