“More than that,” answered madame. “You thought I wouldn’t be liberal; you higgled about the price. There is three times the sum in your hand, and without asking, too.”
The low, wheedling tone in which this was spoken would have created suspicion in a person less eager in her greed. But Jane clutched the prize in her hand, though she still cast longing glances at the casket.
“When shall I see you again with news? Remember, don’t come till you want a mate to that.”
“To-morrow night; I’ll come to-morrow night, see if I don’t.”
“Be careful of the ear-ring, dear. Keep it about you. That Bellevue is such a place for thieves. Now the papers.”
Jane took the little silken bag from her bosom, and gave it to the eager hands that were extended for it.
“That will do. Now, good night, dear. Come again. Good night. If you should meet a policeman, just turn your face toward him, and he’ll know it’s all right. You’ve got a beautiful face, Jane Kelly, a beautiful face,—no policeman that sees it will disturb you.”
Jane was now in haste to depart, and made her way out of the building in safety, though Madame De Marke only followed her to the nearest flight of stairs, with her candle and ink-bottle, leaving her to find the rest of her way out in darkness.
Jane certainly did meet a policeman not many paces from Madame De Marke’s door, and mindful of the counsel she had received, her face was turned boldly toward him. He gave it a searching look, and walked on.
Madame returned to her room, set her light on the bottom of a chair, and opening the little silken bag, examined its contents. Then, with a chuckle of intense delight, she drew forth her treasure-box again, put the papers, and what remained of the jewels, into it, and then blew out the candle, rubbing her hands with low, gleeful chuckles, that broke upon the stillness, at intervals, for half an hour. The woman had evidently accomplished some great point in her transactions with Jane Kelly that night.