In the first place Gervaise ceased to laugh in Jacques Aubry's face; a change most ardently desired by the student, as the reader will remember. Jacques Aubry had discovered the golden fetters which were to bind the damsel to his chariot. They consisted in a lovely ring carved by Benvenuto himself, and representing two clasped hands. It should be said that, since the day of the siege, Jacques Aubry had conceived a warm friendship for the outspoken and energetic nature of the Florentine artist. He did not interrupt him when he was speaking,--an unheard of thing! He kept his eyes fixed upon him and listened to him with respect, which was more than he had ever consented to do for his professors. He admired his work with an enthusiasm which, if not very enlightened, was at least very warm and sincere. On the other hand, his loyalty, his courage, and his jovial disposition attracted Cellini. He was just strong enough at tennis to make a good fight, but to lose in the end. He was his match at table, within a bottle. In short he and the goldsmith had become the best friends in the world, and Cellini, generous because his wealth was inexhaustible, had one day forced him to accept this little ring, which was carved with such marvellous skill that, in default of the apple, it would have tempted Eve, and sown discord between Peleus and Thetis. On the morrow of the day when the ring passed from Jacques Aubry's hands to those of Gervaise, Gervaise resumed a serious demeanor, and the student hoped that she was his. Poor fool! on the contrary, he was hers. Scozzone succeeded, as she desired, in kindling a spark of jealousy in Benvenuto's heart. This is how it came about. One evening, when her wiles and coquetries had as usual failed to arouse the master from his imperturbable gravity, she assumed a solemn expression herself. "Benvenuto," said she, "it seems to me, do you know, as if you had forgotten your promise to me." "What promise is that, my dear child?" rejoined Benvenuto, apparently seeking an explanation of her reproach from the ceiling. "Haven't you promised a hundred times to marry me?" "I don't remember it." "You don't remember it?" "No; I should say that my only reply was, 'This requires consideration.'" "Well! have you considered it?" "Yes." "With what result?" "That I am still too young to be anything else than your lover, Scozzone. We will speak of it again later." "And I am no longer foolish enough, monsieur, to be content with so vague a promise as that, and to wait for you forever." "Do as you please, little one, and if you are in so great a hurry, go ahead." "But what prejudice have you against marriage, after all? Why need it make any change in your life? You will have made a poor girl, who loves you, happy, that's all."