given to her by her Aunt Clotilde somebody would buy them. They were her
own--it would be right to sell them--to what better use could they be
put? Was it not what Aunt Clotilde would have desired? Had she not told
her stories of the good and charitable who had sold the clothes from
their bodies that the miserable might be helped? Yes, it was right. These
things must be done. All else was vain and useless and of the world. But
it would require courage--great courage. To go out alone to find a place
where the people would buy the jewels--perhaps there might be some who
would not want them. And then when they were sold to find this poor and
unhappy quarter of which her uncle's guest had spoken, and to give to
those who needed--all by herself. Ah! what courage it would require. And
then Uncle Bertrand, some day he would ask about the ornaments, and
discover all, and his anger might be terrible. No one had ever been angry
with her; how could she bear it. But had not the Saints and Martyrs borne
everything? had they not gone to the stake and the rack with smiles? She
thought of Saint Elizabeth and the cruel Landgrave. It could not be even
so bad as that--but whatever the result was it must be borne.

So at last she slept, and there was upon her gentle little face so
sweetly sad a look that when her maid came to waken her in the morning
she stood by the bedside for some moments looking down upon her
pityingly.

The day seemed very long and sorrowful to the poor child. It was full of
anxious thoughts and plannings. She was so innocent and inexperienced, so
ignorant of all practical things. She had decided that it would be best
to wait until evening before going out, and then to take the jewels and
try to sell them to some jeweller. She did not understand the
difficulties that would lie in her way, but she felt very timid.