“What are you talking about touching? Poetry! froth and nonsense! I thought you came here on business—to tell me something.” “So I did; haven’t I told you that the baby was dead?” “But she! how about her?” “She was just agoing, when the doctor——” Jane Kelly broke off suddenly, for Madame De Marke sprang to her feet and caught her by the dress. Jane understood this sort of thing and flung her off rudely enough. “Then she isn’t dead?” cried the woman, working the long, sharp nails of her right hand fiercely against the palm. “But the child? Is that dead and buried?” “Oh! I saw that nicely stowed away among a heap of little coffins, on a wheelbarrow, and ready to be bundled off to the dead-house. All right with the baby!” “You’re sure there’s no mistake?” “Sure? Didn’t I put on its cotton shroud myself,—a mighty scant thing, only just wide enough to wrap around its little limbs without a fold? I marked the coffin, too, with my own hands, letter L, with chalk. If you want to be satisfied, it’s easily found, and can be kept till the mother is ready. It’ll save expense, besides being so interesting.” “Expense!” cried the occupant of the room, with a look of sharp anxiety. “Expense! I thought the city bore that. Do they charge for putting a miserable baby into Potter’s Field?” “No, but then most people like a single grave, you know; it only costs a dollar.” “Only costs a dollar! as if dollars were made to fling into Potter’s Field. Why, woman, do you know how much a dollar is worth? How much interest it will bring, how many years it will take a dollar to double? A dollar for a dead baby! If I’d spent dollars so extravagantly, do you think I should ‘a’ been rolling in gold now, rolling, rolling in it—do you hear?” Jane Kelly cast a rather scornful glance around the miserable chamber, with its naked floor, single bed, and coarse wooden chairs. This did not look much like rolling in gold. “You don’t believe me? you think I lie. Very well, very well. You fear that I cannot pay up; very well again; we shall see to that!” “It’s no joke,” said Jane Kelly, who really did begin to fear for the safety of her bribe, after discovering the nakedness of the land. “It’s no joke to do what I’ve done; and a poor body like me might be a trifle anxious about the pay, without blame, let me tell you, ma’am.” “Did you kill the baby?” inquired Madame De Marke, in a low, cunning whisper. “Because if you did, of course that makes a difference. Did you kill it?” Jane sat silent, tempted to assent; for the woman’s words seemed to promise a heavier reward, if crime had really been committed; and her rapacity overcame her prudence. “Did you kill it?” eagerly repeated the woman. “Don’t ask me!” answered the nurse, drawing down her veil as with a spasm of remorse, “I don’t want to think about it.” “Then you did kill it!” cried the woman, and her little, black eyes twinkled with mingled cupidity and malice.