“The price ought to be doubled, ma’am. One’s conscience is worth something.” “Double! oh, ho! Double, is it?” cried Madame De Marke, rubbing her long, thin hands together with malicious glee. “Why, woman, it’s you that should give me money for keeping your wicked secret, Mary Mother forgive me.” Madame reached forth her hands, and took a golden crucifix, with a piece of twine attached, from a ridge over the fireplace which marked the line where a mantelpiece had been, and kissed it reverently. The sight of this crucifix, which was of pure gold and exquisitely wrought, gave Jane Kelly renewed confidence in the ability of her employer to reward the service she had rendered. Though a poor match for the shrewd and singular woman with whom she had to deal, Jane was quick-witted enough to see her mistake. But she allowed Madame De Marke to go on, while her own thoughts were taking form. “You see,” whispered madame, fixing her sharp eyes on the nurse, “you see it is dangerous keeping a secret of this kind for any one. Then your coming here to-night, people might suspect me of having some interest in the matter, and that would never do. Still, for a trifle, say two or three months’ wages, I will keep silent about it.” “Two or three months’ wages from me to you!” cried the nurse, astounded, “from me to you!” “Why, murder! you know, my dear, murder! you don’t seem to appreciate the nature of a secret like that.” “But I have committed no murder. The baby died naturally. Who talks of murder? _I only let it alone._ Where is the law agin that, I’d like to know.” “You didn’t kill it!” cried madame, with a grim smile, and still rubbing her hands; “didn’t kill it?” “‘Masterly inactivity,’ as the papers say, nothing more,” answered the nurse, gathering self-possession as she remarked the rather crestfallen looks of her companion. “Well, then, if the creature died naturally, what more can be said about it? Of course, you don’t want money for a baby that died of its own accord.” “But I do want money, all you promised, and I will have it, too.” “All I promised? how much was that?” “Two hundred dollars for the baby; four, if both went together,” answered Jane, resolutely. “Two hundred dollars!” cried madame, lifting up both hands, with the long, claw-like nails, like a bird ready to pounce on his prey. “Two hundred dollars! Is the woman crazy? Why, it was _two dollars_; a handsome little fee to the nurse, for kindness and care of a poor girl that once lived with me. Two hundred dollars!” “The poor young mother isn’t dead; and good nursing may save her. _I_ am a good nurse, when I fancy the patient, Madame De Marke.” CHAPTER V. THE MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE.