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Brussels were there, nobody spoke of any one but you.

Countess. Well, to please thee then, I'll keep it.

Jean. La! here is a little emerald ring, my Lady; those brokers will despise such a trifle, and give you a mere nothing for it.—La! who would think it? it fits my finger to a hair. It must be a mort too large for your delicate hand.

Countess. Keep it for thyself, then, since it fits thee. He was a great fool who gave it me, and had it made of that awkward size.

Jean. I thank you, my Lady: I wish you would give me every thing in this precious casket that has not been the gift of a sage.

Countess. Thou art right, child. It would put many a hundred louis-d'ors into thy pocket, and leave scarcely a marvedi for myself. A rich Knight of Malta gave me these (holding up a string of pearls.) whose bandy legs were tricked out most delicately in fine-clocked hose of the nicest and richest embroidery. Rest his soul! I made as much of those legs as the hosier did.

Jean. I doubt it not, Madam, and deserved what you earned full as well.

Countess. (looking again at her pearls.) There is not a flaw in any one of them.

Jean. Aye, commend me to such legs! had they been straighter, the pearls had been worse.

Countess. This amber box with brilliants I had from an old croaking Marquis, who pestered