“Not a cent less than the full hundred,” answered the nurse resolutely.
Madame De Marke sat restlessly in her chair. The idea of parting with so much money was absolute torture. A hundred dollars! Why, she did not spend more than half that sum on herself during a whole year; and for that insolent wretch to ask so much for a single scrap of paper! the very thought enraged her.
“Say seventy-five now,” she pleaded, in a wheedling tone, weaving her fingers softly together.
“I don’t want to sell the paper. If the girl gets well, as I mean she shall, it’ll be worth more than a hundred dollars to her.”
“But she has no money.”
“Well, I can afford to do without money when a kind act is to be done. The city government always gives me a home and work when I want them.”
“Take seventy-five.”
“Well, say seventy-five for the paper, and a hundred for the baby.”
“The baby again!” snarled Madame De Marke, “it’s dead of its own accord. I won’t pay a sous for it—not a sous!”
Jane Kelly hesitated a moment, looked around the room as if afraid of being overheard, and then leaning forward, whispered a few words in Madame De Marke’s ear.