Then again he dived, and brought out a wax medallion of Our Lady guarded by angels, and made the sign that always brought Cecily to him.  He held it up to her with a puzzled smile, saying, ’They thought me a mere Papist for buying it—­M. de Teligny, I think it was.’

They had heard how the good and beloved Teligny had been shot down on the roof of his father-in-law’s house, by rabid assassins, strangers to his person, when all who knew him had spared him, from love to his gentle nature; and the name gave a strange thrill.

He muttered something about ’Pedlar,—­Montpipeau,’—­and still continued.  Then came a small silver casket, diffusing an odour of attar of roses—­he leant back in his chair—­and his mother would have taken it from him, supposing him overcome by the scent, but he held it fast and shook his head, saying, “For Lucy,—­but she must give it herself.  She gave up any gift for herself for it—­she said we needed no love-tokens.’  And he closed his eyes.  Dame Annora plunged into the unpacking, and brought out a pocket-mirror with enamelled cupids in the corner, addressed to herself; and then came upon Berenger’s own.

Again came a fringed pair of gloves among the personal jewellery such as gentlemen were wont to wear, the rings, clasps and brooches he had carried from home.  Dame Annora’s impatience at last found vent in the exclamation, ’The pearls, son; I do not see the chaplet of pearls.’

’She had them, ’answered Berenger, in a matter-of-fact tone, ’to wear at the masque.’

‘She——­’

Sir Marmaduke’s great hand choked, as it were, the query on his wife’s lips, unseen by her son, who, as if the words had touched some chord, was more eagerly seeking in the box, and presently drew out a bow of carnation ribbon with a small piece of paper full of pin-holes attached to it.  At once he carried it to his lips, kissed it fervently, and then, sinking back in his chair, seemed to be trying to gather up the memory that had prompted the impulse, knitted his brows together, and then suddenly exclaimed, ’Where is she?’

His mother tried the last antecedent.  ’Lucy?  She shall come and thank you to-morrow.’

He shook his head with a vehement negative, beckoned Cecily impatiently, and said earnestly, ’Is it the contagion?  Is she sick?  I will go to her.’

Cecily and Sir Marmaduke both replied with a ‘No, no!’ and were thankful, though in much suspense at the momentary pause, while again he leant back on the cushions, looked steadily at the pin-holes, that formed themselves into the word ‘Sweet heart,’ then suddenly began to draw up the loose sleeve of his wrapping-gown and unbutton the wristband of his right sleeve.  His mother tried to help him, asking if he had hurt or tired his arm.  They would have been almost glad to hear that it was so, but he shook her off impatiently, and the next moment had a view of the freshly skinned over, but still wide and gaping gash on his arm.  He looked for a brief space, and said, ‘It is a sword-cut,’