“Bother!” exclaimed Jane, brutally seizing upon the crucifix and holding it up. “Now swear on this, that you have put the gold and jewels in the bank, and I’ll believe it. Come, sit up and swear. I’ll hold it to your lips.”
“No, no. It’s not allowed to swear about worldly matters on that. Give me anything else, and I’ll do it,” cried Madame, snatching at the crucifix.
“This, or nothing,” was the stern reply.
“Give me my crucifix. Oh! lay it down. Give me my crucifix!” almost shrieked the old woman, with wild terror in her eyes, as she saw Jane walking backward toward the door, carry off her treasure.
“No, no, I’m going to try what it can do; you have prayed to it for bread that didn’t come. I’ll set it to work. See if I don’t get something to eat out of it.”
“Something to eat?” cried Madame De Marke, “what! my crucifix! Where are you going?”
“To my uncle’s!”
“You have no uncle. It will be lost, bring it back. I have a shilling in the pocket of my dress—you shall have that, only give back the holy crucifix.”
“A shilling, indeed. My uncle will give me ten times the money if I spout it handsomely—but don’t fret, I’ll bring you the ticket, on honor, and you can buy back your religion with some of the gold when it comes from the bank. Keep cool, old lady, it’s my turn now.”
“But you will not carry off my crucifix!” screamed the old woman.