This time it was a small, thin disc of white flint, with a hole in
the center through which a beaded cord of sinew was looped. The
edge of the disc was beautifully notched and the whole surface
polished so that it shone like glass, while the beads, made of
very small segments of porcupine quills, were variously dyed,
making a curiously gaudy show of bright colors.
"There now, ma cherie, is something worth fifty times its weight
in gold," said M. Roussillon when he presented the necklace to his
foster daughter with pardonable self-satisfaction. "It is a sacred
charm-string given me by an old heathen who would sell his soul
for a pint of cheap rum. He solemnly informed me that whoever wore
it could not by any possibility be killed by an enemy."
Alice kissed M. Roussillon.
"It's so curious and beautiful," she said, holding it up and
drawing the variegated string through her fingers. Then, with her
mischievous laugh, she added; "and I'm glad it is so powerful
against one's enemy; I'll wear it whenever I go where Adrienne
Bourcier is, see if I don't!"
"Is she your enemy? What's up between you and la petite Adrienne,
eh?" M. Roussillon lightly demanded. "You were always the best of
good friends, I thought. What's happened?"
"Oh, we are good friends," said Alice, quickly, "very good
friends, indeed; I was but chaffing.
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