test the purity of gold,
by the streak it leaves when rubbed on the stone}

"What do you expect to receive for this thimble, mademoiselle?" asked
the woman, coldly.

"It cost a napoleon, madame, and was made expressly for myself."

"You do not expect to sell it at what it cost?" was the dry answer.

"Perhaps not, madame--I suppose you will look for a profit in selling
it again. I wish you to name the price."

This was said because the delicate ever shrink from affixing a value to
the time and services of others. Adrienne was afraid she might
unintentionally deprive the other of a portion of her just gains. The
woman understood by the timidity and undecided manner of the applicant,
that she had a very unpracticed being to deal with, and she was
emboldened to act accordingly. First taking another look at the pretty
little hand and fingers, to make certain the thimble might not be
reclaimed, when satisfied that it really belonged to her who wished to
dispose of it, she ventured to answer.

"In such times as we had before these vile republicans drove all the
strangers from Paris, and when our commerce was good," she said, "I
might have offered seven francs and a half for that thimble; but, as
things are now, the last sou I can think of giving is five francs."

"The gold is very good, madame," Adrienne observed, in a voice
half-choked, "they told my grandmother the metal alone was worth
thirteen."

"Perhaps, mademoiselle, they might give that much at the mint, for
there they coin money; but, in this shop, no one will give more than
five francs for that thimble."

Had Adrienne been longer in communion with a cold and heartless world,
she would not have submitted to this piece of selfish extortion; but,
inexperienced, and half frightened by the woman's manner, she begged
the pittance offered as a boon, dropped her thimble, and made a hasty
retreat. When the poor girl reached the street, she began to reflect on
what she had done. Five francs would scarcely support her grandmother a
week, with even the wood and wine she had on hand, and she had no more
gold thimbles to sacrifice. A heavy sigh broke from her bosom, and
tears stood in her eyes. But she was wanted at home, and had not the
leisure to reflect on her own mistake.

CHAPTER VI.

Occupation is a blessed relief to the miserable. Of all the ingenious
modes of torture that have ever been invented, that of solitary
confinement is probably the most cruel--th