When, having retired from the room with a grave and stately little obeisance to her uncle and his guest, Elizabeth had gone upstairs, it had not been with the intention of going to bed.  She sent her maid away and knelt before her altar for a long time.

“The Saints will tell me what to do,” she said.  “The good Saints, who are always gracious, they will vouchsafe to me some thought which will instruct me if I remain long enough at prayer.”

She remained in prayer a long time.  When at last she arose from her knees it was long past midnight, and she was tired and weak, but the thought had not been given to her.

But just as she laid her head upon her pillow it came.  The ornaments 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.

Her maid had asked permission to go out for the evening and Monsieur de Rochemont was to dine out, so that she found it possible to leave the house without attracting attention.

As soon as the streets were lighted she took the case of ornaments, and going downstairs very quietly, let herself out.  The servants were dining, and she was seen by none of them.