’Yes, sir, the Vulgate—­a copy older than the Reformation, so not liable to be called an heretical version,’ said Berenger, to whom a copy had been given by Lady Walwyn, as more likely to be saved if his baggage were searched.  ’The other is the Office and Psalter after our English rite; and this last is not mine, but Mr. Sidney’s—­a copy of Virgilius Maro, which he had left behind at Paris.

The Chevalier, not willing to confess that he had taken the English Prayer-book for Latin, hastily said, ’Nothing wrong there—­no, no, nothing that will hurt the State; may it only be so with what you carry on your person, fair cousin.  Stand back, gentleman, this is gear for myself alone.  Now, fair nephew,’ he added, ’not a hand shall be laid on you, if you will give me your honourable word, as a nobleman, that you are laying before me all that you carry about you.

An instant’s thought convinced Berenger that resistance would save nothing, and merely lead to indignity to himself and danger to Philip; and therefore he gave the promise to show everything about him, without compulsion.  Accordingly, he produced his purse for current expenses, poor King Charles’s safe-conduct, and other articles of no consequence, from his pockets; then reluctantly opened his doublet, and took off the belt containing his store of gold, which had been replenished at Walsingham’s.  This was greedily eyed by the captain, but the Chevalier at once made it over to Philip’s keeping, graciously saying, ’We do no more than duty requires;’ but at the same time he made a gesture towards another small purse that hung round Berenger’s neck by a black ribbon.

‘On my sacred word and honour,’ said Berenger, ’it contains nothing important to any save myself.

‘Alas! my bounden duty,’ urged the Chevalier.

An angry reply died on Berenger’s lip.  At the thought of Philip, he opened the purse, and held out the contents on his palm:  a tiny gold ring, a tress of black hair, a fragment of carnation-ribbon pricked with pin-holes, a string of small worthless yellow shells, and, threaded with them, a large pear-shaped pearl of countless price.  Even the Chevalier was touched at the sight of this treasury, resting on the blanched palm of the thin, trembling hand, and jealously watched by eyes glistening with sudden moisture, though the lips were firm set.  ‘Alas! my poor young cousin,’ he said, ’you loved her well.

‘Not loved, but love,’ muttered Berenger to himself, as if having recourse to the only cordial that could support him through the present suffering; and he was closing his fingers again over his precious hoard, when the Chevalier added, ’Stay!  Nephew—­that pearl?

‘Is one of the chaplet; the token she sent to England,’ he answered.

’Pauvre petite! Then, at least a fragment remains of the reward of our ancestor’s courage,’ said the Chevalier.