As the ache in his head subsided, so diminished the strength of his
wrath; and he went out to ask the Chevalier if he should keep the
valuables in his own pocket or replace them in the pocket of the
pantaloons from which they had fallen. The Chevalier took the rings
and slipped them on his fingers, all save the signet ring, which he
handed to his lackey.
"Keep this, lad, till I ask for it," was all he said.
Breton put the ring in the little chamois bag which his mother had
given him. The ring rattled against a little silver crucifix. The lad
then returned to the cabin and read his favorite book till his eyes
grew weary. He looked about for a marker and espied some papers on the
floor. These he thrust into his place and fell to dreaming.
Each afternoon the Chevalier was carried up to the deck; and what with
the salt air and the natural vigor which he inherited from his father,
the invalid's bones began to take on flesh and his interest in life
became normal. It is true that when left alone a mask of gloom
shadowed his face, and his thin fingers opened and closed nervously and
unconsciously. Diane, Diane, Diane! It was the murmur of far-off
voices, it was the whisper of the winds in the shrouds, it was the cry
of the lonely gull and the stormy petrel.
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