On the right hand three or four clerks, shut off from the public by a railing breast-high, were writing down the names of the depositors, and counting out money.  Far back, a large opening was visible, where another clerk appeared from time to time, to take in the articles that were pawned.  After waiting for five minutes, and without asking a question from anybody, Henrietta understood the whole process.  Trembling as if she had committed a crime, she went to the opening behind, and put upon the ledge one of her rings, the most valuable of the two.  Then she waited, not daring to look up; for it seemed to her as if all eyes were upon her.

“One diamond ring!” cried the clerk.  “Nine hundred francs.  Whose is it?”

The large amount caused all to look around; and a big woman, but too well dressed, and with a very impudent expression, said,—­

“Oh, oh!  The damsel dresses well!”

Crimson with shame, Henrietta had stepped up.  She whispered,—­

“It is my ring, sir.”

The clerk looked at her, and then asked quite gently,—­

“You have your papers?”

“Papers?  What for?”

“The papers that establish your identity.  Your passport, a receipt for rent, or any thing.”

The whole company laughed at the ignorance of this girl.  She stammered out,—­

“I have no such papers, sir.”

“Then we can make no advance.”

One more hope, her last, vanished thus.  She held out her hand, saying,—­

“Please give me back my ring.”

But the clerk now laughed, and replied,—­

“No, no, my dear! that can’t be done.  You shall have it back when you bring me the papers, or when you come accompanied by two merchants who are known to us.”

“But, sir”—­

“That is so.”

And, finding that he had lost time enough, he went on,—­

“One velvet cloak!  Thirty francs.  Whose is it?”

Henrietta was rushing out, and down the stairs, pursued, as it seemed to her, by the cries of the crowd.  How that clerk had looked at her!  Did he think she had stolen the ring?  And what was to become of it?  The police would inquire; they would trace her out; and she would be carried back to her father’s house, and given up to Sir Thorn.  She could hardly keep up until she reached Water Street; and there fatigue, fright, and excitement made her forget her resolutions.  She confessed her discomfiture to Mrs. Chevassat.

The honest woman tried to look as grave as an attorney whom a great client consults, who has unwittingly stirred up a wasps’ nest; and, when her tenant had finished, she said in a voice apparently half drowned in tears,—­

“Poor little kitten, poor little innocent kitten!”

But, if she succeeded in giving to her face an expression of sincere sympathy, the greedy look in her eyes betrayed but too clearly her immense satisfaction at seeing Henrietta at last at her feet.