Listen to me. You
can see there is an object in hiding that child. Keep her safely
guarded. Show no suspicion. You make friends with the lady. Leave
the maid dead alone. Take it easy, padre; we'll get them. I'll tell
my bankers to back you up. I'll take you down; I'll make you solid.
"All I fear is they will get frightened and take her off. You people
have got to watch her. They'll run her off, if they suspect. Poor
little kid.
"It's strange," says the miner; "they could have put this poor
little one out of the way easy. But they don't want that. Want her
alive, but kept on the quiet. I suppose there's somebody else," he
mutters.
"By Jove! that's it. There's property or money hanging on her
existence. Now, padre, I'll talk plain. You priests are pretty sly.
You write your people about this child. I'll see you have money.
My banker will work the whole municipality of Paris for you.
"That's it; we've got it." The miner's fist makes the glasses
rattle, as he quaffs his wine.
"Don't lose sight of her a minute. Don't show your hand."
The priest rolls home in Joe's carriage. He busies himself the
next days with going to the bank, conferring with his fellows, and
awaking the vigilance of Josephine.
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