I was so much enraged, I went without a word and fetched it, and, bringing it to her where she stood, in the same place, put it into her hands. When she saw it some recollection, I fancy, of the day when she had traced the cry for help on it, came to her in her anger; for she took it from me with all her bearing altered. She trembled, and held it for a moment in her hands, as if she did not know what to do with it. She was thinking, doubtless, of the house in Blois and the peril she had run there; and, being for my part quite willing that she should think and feel how badly she had acted, I stood looking at her, sparing her no whit of my glance. ‘The gold chain you left on my mother’s pillow,’ I said coldly, seeing she continued silent, ‘I cannot return to you at once, for I have pledged it. But I will do so as soon as I can.’ ‘You have pledged it?’ she muttered, with her eyes averted. ‘Yes, mademoiselle, to procure a horse to bring me here,’ I replied drily. ‘However, it, shall be redeemed. In return, there is something I too would ask.’ ‘What?’ she murmured, recovering herself with all effort, and looking at me with something of her old pride and defiance. ‘The broken coin you have,’ I said. ‘The token, I mean. It is of no use to you, for your enemies hold the other half. It might be of service to me.’ ‘How?’ she asked curtly. ‘Because some day I may find its fellow, mademoiselle,’ ‘And then?’ she cried. She looked at me, her lips parted, her eyes flashing. ‘What then, when you have found its fellow, M. de Marsac?’ I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Bah!’ she exclaimed, clenching her little hand, and stamping her foot on the floor in a passion I could not understand. ‘That is you! That is M. de Marsac all over. You say nothing, and men think nothing of you. You go with your hat in your hand, and they tread on you. They speak, and you are silent! Why, if I could use a sword as you can, I would keep silence before no man, nor let any man save the King of France cock his hat in my presence! But you! There! go, leave me. Here is your coin. Take it and go. Send me that lad of yours to keep me awake. At any rate he has brains, he is young, he is a man, he has a soul, he can feel--if he were anything but a clerk.’ She waved me off in such a wind of passion as might have amused me in another, but in her smacked so strongly of ingratitude as to pain me not a little. I went, however, and sent Simon to her; though I liked the errand very ill, and no better when I saw the lad’s face light up at the mention of her name. But apparently she had not recovered her temper when he reached her, for he fared no better than I had done; coming away presently with the air of a whipped dog, as I saw from the yew-tree walk where I was strolling.