The weeks passed by. Julien did not come. Would he ever come? The question was often put to madame. But she didn’t understand. Julie began to grow discouraged. Baby was so heavy! and she was cutting teeth, too, and worried and fretted. Some new plaything must be invented every five minutes to amuse and keep her quiet. She must be sung to, rocked, carried backward and forward, to and fro, drawn in her carriage up and down the sidewalk, wearily, wearily, up and down. As for Charley, he learned to speak less good French of Julie than he hurled bad English at her. During his mother’s visit East, he had improved the chance for making acquaintance with all the boys on the street, and thus had considerably increased the list of words at his command. One day, Lizzie’s dimpled fingers found the ribbon about Julie’s neck. Out in full sight flew the precious cross. Julie hastened to hide it, but a pair of keen eyes had caught the glitter. “What’s that? What’s that shiny thing you’ve got there, Julie? I want to see it!” cried the tormentor, darting toward her. She thrust out her hand to keep him off. He flung it aside and clutched at the ribbon. “Non! non!” she screamed, pushing him away. At that he became furious, kicking and biting, and pulling her hair. Julie, dropping the baby, shrieked with pain. Baby began to cry lustily. The uproar reached the drawing-room, where there were callers. Madame came rushing in to still the noise. Charley, who had succeeded in tearing it away, now, triumphant, held up the cross. “See, ma, see! She had it hid in ’er neck! She stole it, you bet!” “Oh, donnez-la moi! donnez-la moi!”[4] sobbed Julie. Madame hadn’t time to inquire into the matter. She took the cross away from Charley, though he stoutly resisted, locked it in a drawer of her writing-desk, put the key in her pocket and then went back to her guests. The young gentleman picked at the lock with his pencil. “You plagued old thing!” he muttered, shaking his fist and scowling at Julie, “if you hadn’t a’ raised such a rumpus she’d never a’ knowed, and I’d a’ traded it off fur Tommy Tough’s pearl-handled penknife—plague take you!” After the visitors had gone, Julie, pointing to the writing-desk, entreated: “Oh, madame, la give, la give! à present, s’il vous please!” “Yes, yes, yes, by and by.” But “by and by,” madame had forgotten. She did not remember, indeed, until she opened the drawer to get her portemonnaie before going out shopping. “Some cheap gew-gaw, possibly,” she thought, taking up the cross. “I don’t know, though! Can this be glass? Wonder how she came by it? Can it possibly be of any value?... I’ve a great mind to take it down to Forsyth’s and see what he says. _He_’ll know the moment he lays eyes on it.” Down to Forsyth’s she took it. “Mr. Forsyth,” she said, handing it across the counter, “here is a little trinket that has accidentally come into my possession lately. I’d like your opinion as to its worth.”