She would have protested, would have pleaded, but I broke away into the house, donned the best suit my uncle had left behind, stretching it somewhat in the struggle, buckled on sword and dagger, and was ready. Never had I felt so strong, so confident. At last was I to have a bout with fortune! But money? I had little--well--and then, as I left the house, I saw again the gallant lying stark in the dust. Perhaps in his pockets were broad gold-pieces--a jewel flashed on his finger--but even as I stooped, a hand was laid on my shoulder, and I turned to find myself looking into my sister’s eyes. “Not that, Pierre,” she said hoarsely. “For Christ’s sake, not that! The le Moynes have been thieves long enough--now let them be honest men!” I felt my throat contract and my eyes grow wet. “But I cannot starve,” I faltered, cursing my own weakness. I saw the blood die from her lips. “Here, take this!” she cried, and she tore open her gown and snatched a cross from her bosom. I saw that it was of gold. “It was given to me,” she said, “at Aignan. Now I give it to you to buy bread. It is the dearest thing I have, but I give it gladly, for I am ransoming your soul. Henceforth the le Moynes will be honest men.” I could not speak, but I dropped at her feet and kissed the cross as she held it down to me. It is an oath, thank God, I have never broken. “And you will not sell the horse,” she added--what a woman she was! “You will ride him as far as Tours. There you will deliver him to a coureur to be returned to Marsan. I will see that he is claimed. Good-by, dear Pierre,” and she held up her lips. I kissed her as I would have kissed the Virgin, then my mother and aunt. They seemed quite broken, yet it was clear we must be off. To Marsan and back was only a matter of three hours, and near an hour of this was already gone. I sprang to saddle and looked at them all, once again, standing there in the road. Then I touched spur to flank and was off. And so, in the course of days, I came to Tours, where I sold the cross and delivered the horse to the coureur. Then to Paris, where I arrived at last, weary and somewhat stained by the road, yet with ten pistoles in my pocket, a good sword at my side, and a light heart in my bosom--the heart of youth! Two words, did I say? How memory makes one garrulous! CHAPTER V M. RIBAUT IS OBDURATE SHE sat looking at me for a moment without speaking, her chin in her hands, her eyes bright. “That is life!” she said, at last. “That is living! That is what I long for! And, oh, how I shall love your sister! What is her name, Pierre?” “Ninon,” I answered. “Ninon!” and she lingered on the word. “Why, that is almost Nanette! Oh, that I could see her, now--this moment!” “Perhaps you soon will--that cottage at St. Cloud, you know,” and I smiled at her eager face. “Come, it is time for me to pay my respects to your amiable uncle.” She gave a little gasp.