This cold rainy morning Bernard had already welcomed three new customers to the secondhand shop. The drizzle’s soft shush above cluttered attics was more lure than most treasure hunters and gatherers could resist. Such weather nearly always guaranteed he would meet new visitors before the clouds retreated.

At precisely 11 am, the door clanged open again and a small elderly woman shuffled in, clutching her tapestry bag close to her damp woolen coat. Her wispy white hair was tucked into a bun beneath a fitted felt hat, and her pale, thin wrinkles framed blue eyes that shone with a light brighter than her age hinted.

“Mr. Harbor, I presume?” she addressed him in a soft, steady voice. Bernard nodded in reply from behind the counter. “At your service, ma’am.”

“The dolls there on the top shelf,” she nodded toward the characters, eyeing their detailed painted faces and ornate clothes.

Bernard turned to look at the collection, though he knew exactly the ones she meant. “Where are they from?” she asked.

“Well there’s a bit o’ mystery behind those. A young woman brought ‘em in about a year ago, and said they were from her deceased uncle’s mansion near Essex. She didn’t give any details, except that they were from a French court and that they should fetch us a good earning. “ He didn’t mention that the odd-faced collectibles had gathered more dust than attention the past year, with their crooked grins, jester hats, and steady gazes.

“How much?” she asked. Bernard fumbled with the doll closest to the edge. He read the water-stained tag aloud: “$325.”

“I’ll take all of them,” she said quickly.