“Did these belong to her?” asked Marie-Celeste, standing in open-eyed wonder before a mosaic table, which had been cleared to make room for a quaint collection of foreign-looking, childish possessions--a mandolin, a well-worn little missal, a remarkable doll, a necklace or two, numerous little childish trinkets, and thrown over a chair, standing close to the table, a little gown of white silk and exquisite embroidery, yellow and limp with age, but none the less dainty and lovely.