"I said what I did then, and I placed on your finger that ring, which is indeed your own--as you had entrusted it to me to show to your father--and I declared before all present that you were affianced to me. It was so." She bowed her head. "But, Noémi, you know that this can never, never be." She looked up quickly, sadly at him. Her eyes were full of tears. Jean was deeply agitated. "You must return me the ring--if only for the form's sake, so as to undo the pledge and dissolve the engagement--I will give it back to you as a surrender of a loan--as nothing else." She put her fingers to the ring and drew it off, and without a word offered it to him. He took the ring and looked at it, doubtful what more to say. "Noémi," he asked, "whose arms are these engraved on it? They seem to me to belong to the Fénelon family." "Yes--they are the Fénelon arms." "Was the ring----" He was about to ask if it had been stolen, but checked himself. "It was my father's ring," she said in a low tone. "Your father's! Was Le Gros Guillem a Fénelon?" "Le Gros Guillem! Oh, no! Do you not know and understand?" "Know, understand what?" "Le Gros Guillem was not really my father; he carried off my mother from Fénelon, along with me when I was an infant in arms. Le Gros Guillem killed my father, who was the Baron de Fénelon. But I was a child and I was brought up at Domme. I knew nothing of that. Le Gros Guillem always treated me as his child and loved me as such, and I--I always called him and looked up to him as father." "Noémi--is this true?" She gazed at him full in the face. "I am no liar, Jean." "Noémi, throw aside that helebore, open your arms. To my heart! to my heart! Take back the ring, all is well, is well. Mine for ever!" CHAPTER XXVI. THE ELEVENTH CROSS. OGIER DEL' PEYRA had returned to Le Peuch Ste. Soure. His appearance greatly astonished the people, as his beard and moustachio had been shaved, and his hair, usually worn very thick and long, had been clipped close. So transformed was he in appearance that they could hardly recognise him. It was not till the story of the exploit of La Roque had reached them in its entirety that this transformation was understood. Ogier would say nothing about what he had done. He relapsed into indifference and silence, and appeared morose and inaccessible. He took no interest in anything connected with his lands, none whatever in the great political events that ensued.