The jeweler’s eyes sparkled like the precious gems, as he held them to the light. “Why, Mrs. ——, you have here a treasure! Those stones!—genuine article!” and examining more closely: “It’s very old. Just observe the chasing. You know nothing of its history?” “No. You consider it of value, then?” “Of value? I would give five hundred dollars any day, Mrs. ——, to become possessor of that cross.” He added eagerly, “Could you not be induced to part with it?” Five hundred dollars! Madame’s glance fell upon a silver tea-service which she had long coveted. “Possibly. I’ll think about it,” she said, and went her way. Such a lovely blue moire in one of the shop windows—five dollars a yard. It made one’s mouth water to look at it. Such a lovely Brussels in another!—the parlors needed carpeting anew. Such lovely, lovely things in all the windows! that one really _ought_ to have. As for the child, of what earthly use could that costly trinket ever be to _her_? Like as not she stole it, as Charley said. When madame reached home her purse was even better filled than when she started out, and the silver tea-set would be sent up from Forsyth’s to-morrow. Meantime a curious piece of workmanship in the jeweler’s show-case was attracting much attention. * * * * * What a queer way to find the brother is this—tending Lizzie and being knocked about by Charley, and robbed of mamma’s last gift! Julie fears she will never get it, for when she asked madame for it again, madame blushed and did not reply. What strange people these Americans are! They make little children take care of little children! And she is afraid of Charley. She trembles now to think of him. And who is that creature peering out of the closet over there? It is like the woman who let the room where mamma was taken sick. Why, this is that room! and here is the mother beside her. Julie leans over and asks: “Why dost thou not waken, my mother? Behold, the sun is high. Why dost thou sleep so long? Why art thou so cold and pale? Mamma! Mamma!” The silken lashes are not lifted from the marble cheek; the white lips make no answer. “She is so weary, I will not disturb her. I will watch until she wakens.” The morning creeps away, the noon, and the afternoon, and now the evening comes. “Mamma! my dear mamma!” Still the eyelids are not lifted, and the white lips are dumb. The night goes by, and a day, and another night, and the morning dawns once more. And again the woman comes peering through the door. “She is dead,” Julie hears her say. Men enter and carry the mother away. “Where are you going with my poor mamma?” “We are going to bury her.” “You shall not bury her! You shall not take her away,” cries Julie. They thrust her back with rough hands. They will not let her follow. The woman locks her in. She is left alone, alone.