Jane lifted her face and looked composedly on this burst of agony. Then without a word she went on with her meal. When she saw this, tears began to stream over the old woman’s face; when she heard Madame De Marke pleading piteously for a single crumb of the bread, or one little mouthful of the steak—“One crumb, one mouthful, she would be content with that,” Jane still never spoke, but enjoyed her meal in stubborn silence. “Do you hear?—oh! Jane, do you hear me?” “Yes, I hear!” “One mouthful, only one mouthful, dear, good Jane!” “The box, only the box, dear, good madam!” was the mocking answer. “Oh! will nothing but the box answer? Am I to starve?” “If I am obliged to find it for myself, you certainly will!” said Jane, resolutely pushing back the chair from which she had been eating. “Now for a grand search!” Her eyes accidentally fell on the hen-coop, as she spoke, and Madame De Marke, struck with terror, called out,— “No, no, do not disturb the poor things; they have done nothing!” A suspicion instantly seized upon Jane. She advanced toward the coop, and stooping down was about to remove it from its place. “No, no, stop, I will tell you, Jane. Give me something to eat first, and I will tell you about it.” “Tell me first!” persisted Jane, with her eyes on the hen-coop, “tell me where the box is, first!” “Will you give me food if I do?” “Yes, as much as you can eat.” “Now?—at once?” “Yes, this minute!” “But what do you want of my gold?” “No matter!” “You will not take much; enough to redeem the crucifix—no more than that?” “Speak, or I will find it without your help.” It seemed as if the struggle between habitual parsimony and the sharp demands of hunger would never cease to rend that poor skeleton form. The old woman writhed upon her bed, in absolute torture, yet her mercenary soul clung to its gold against the very pangs of hunger. At last she shrieked out,— “Give me food. Give me life, but do not take all!” “Where is the box?” persisted Jane, steady to her point. “There, there!” cried her victim, “remove the coop. Under it is a loose board—beneath that you will find the box.” As she ceased, the old woman fell to weeping and moaning over her losses. Jane removed the coop, thrust aside a loose board, and found the box between the floor and ceiling. “All right. Give up the key, old lady!” Madame held out a key, which had been concealed in her bosom, weeping bitterly all the time. Jane opened the box, pushed aside the gold with her hand, and took out the tarnished jewel-case. “I will not rob you, these are mine,” she said, thrusting the case into her bosom; “and this,” she continued, taking out a slip of paper; “this belongs to one we have both wronged. Take your money, I have got all that is mine!” “Give me the gold—here, here, on the bed. Give it up, my gold! my gold!”