“Glass, I suppose.” Absent-mindedly Florence drew one of the white spots that glistened in the light across the crystal of her watch. Then she sat up quite abruptly.
“Dumb! Now I’ve scratched my crystal and it will break. Jeanne! Don’t ask me to buy another chest. No need to buy trouble. That, at least, you may get free.”
“But see!” Jeanne snatched the curious dagger from her. “If it indeed scratches glass, then truly it is a diamond. And see! There are one, two, three, four—oh, how is one to count them? There are many jewels, and they go round and round the handle.”
“Diamonds?”
“Yes. Surely! They are diamonds. And the red ones are rubies. Half belong to you and half to me. For see, we bought the box together, the box with the dragon on the cover.
“Truly!” she cried, dancing across the sand, waving the dagger over her head. “Truly this is for me the hour of enchantment!
“Listen!” The little French girl’s voice changed abruptly. She held up a hand.
From somewhere in the distance came the slow D-o-n-g, D-o-n-g, of a clock striking two.
“The enchanted hour!” Her tone was solemn.
Once again she swung her hands high. Next instant a sharp cry escaped her lips. The three-bladed knife with all its jewels was gone. Some one half concealed in the darkness at her back had snatched it from her.