“And the chest!” Florence exclaimed. “That Oriental chest?”
“The chest is empty, to be sure.” Jeanne threw back the lid. “What would you have? They came for that which was in the chest; nothing more. Why then would they not take it if they found it here?”
“Gone!” Florence sat down to stare at the chest. “And I don’t feel so sorry about that. After all, what use could we have for some dusty old Chinese banners and a silly little bell?”
“What indeed?” There was a curious light in Jeanne’s eye that Florence did not quite understand.
“But Jeanne!” Florence sprang to her feet. “If those people found what they wanted in the chest, why did they take the trouble to tear this place up so terribly?”
“Who knows?” Jeanne’s eyes were veiled, dreamy now.
When order had been restored, Florence retired for the night.
Jeanne sat up for a long time studying. She was reading the book she had purchased in the Golden Temple of Jehol.
As she read her wonder grew. From her reading she learned for certain that the embroidered panels that had but yesterday reposed in the now empty chest had indeed come from the temples of China—not one, but many temples; that they had been made of gold and silver thread. When she recalled them one by one and attempted to compute their value, it made her a little dizzy.
“But then,” she sighed at last, “it is not so much what one possesses that counts; it is what he is able to sell it for.