“If you are rich,” said Ursula to her uncle, “why do you make him serve in the navy?”

“Presently it will be I who incurred his debts,” said the doctor, smiling.  “I don’t oblige him to do anything; but the uniform, my dear, and the cross of the Legion of honor, won in battle, will wipe out many stains.  Before six years are over he may be in command of a ship, and that’s all I ask of him.”

“But he may be killed,” she said, turning a pale face upon the doctor.

“Lovers, like drunkards, have a providence of their own,” he said, laughing.

That night the poor child, with La Bougival’s help, cut off a sufficient quantity of her long and beautiful blond hair to make a chain; and the next day she persuaded old Schmucke, the music-master, to take it to Paris and have the chain made and returned by the following Sunday.  When Savinien got back he informed the doctor and Ursula that he had signed his articles and was to be at Brest on the 25th.  The doctor asked him to dinner on the 18th, and he passed nearly two whole days in the old man’s house.  Notwithstanding much sage advice and many resolutions, the lovers could not help betraying their secret understanding to the watchful eyes of the abbe, Monsieur Bongrand, the Nemours doctor, and La Bougival.

“Children,” said the old man, “you are risking your happiness by not keeping it to yourselves.”

On the fete-day, after mass, during which several glances had been exchanged, Savinien, watched by Ursula, crossed the road and entered the little garden where the pair were practically alone; for the kind old man, by way of indulgence, was reading his newspapers in the pagoda.

“Dear Ursula,” said Savinien; “will you make a gift greater than my mother could make me even if—­”

“I know what you wish to ask me,” she said, interrupting him.  “See, here is my answer,” she added, taking from the pocket of her apron the box containing the chain made of her hair, and offering it to him with a nervous tremor which testified to her illimitable happiness.  “Wear it,” she said, “for love of me.  May it shield you from all dangers by reminding you that my life depends on yours.”

“Naughty little thing! she is giving him a chain of her hair,” said the doctor to himself.  “How did she manage to get it? what a pity to cut those beautiful fair tresses; she will be giving him my life’s blood next.”

“You will not blame me if I ask you to give me, now that I am leaving you, a formal promise to have no other husband than me,” said Savinien, kissing the chain and looking at Ursula with tears in his eyes.

“Have I not said so too often—­I who went to see the walls of Sainte-Pelagie when you were behind them?—­” she replied, blushing.  “I repeat it, Savinien; I shall never love any one but you, and I will be yours alone.”

Seeing that Ursula was half-hidden by the creepers, the young man could not deny himself the happiness of pressing her to his heart and kissing her forehead; but she gave a feeble cry and dropped upon the bench, and when Savinien sat beside her, entreating pardon, he saw the doctor standing before them.