“Dian—see Dian’s face!” whispered Rosanne to Marie Josephine, and they both turned and looked up at the shepherd. There was a light on his face, and in his eyes a depth of happiness. Dian took a key from his inner pocket, and stooping over, unlocked the chest. Then he turned and looked again at Lisle. “I believe that you will be like the first Lisle and that you will have knowledge beyond his to work out a way of helping the people, and all those that need you,” he said. Then he leaned over, and, reaching down into the depths of the chest, drew out a tray. It was made of iron and it exactly fitted the chest. On it were bags, some of goatskin, some of raw hides, several of velvet, and one of leather. He touched them softly with his hands, tenderly, broodingly, the way a miser might have touched his wealth, after the visit of an angel who had awakened him to the glories of giving, instead of keeping. “There is gold here, old money, some of which is valueless but for the spirit in which it was given. The one of each generation who has known of the secret cellar has put something here, has given of his store,” he said. “I haven’t anything to give,” said Marie Josephine, a quiver in her voice. “You offered your life, but the sacrifice was not needed,” the shepherd answered her. “I am the last Lisle now and I have nothing to give,” Lisle said in the humble way which was new to him. “You would have given your life a hundred times over, had there been a way. You have given a prayer that is better than all this,” Dian answered him. “Whom does it belong to?” asked Jean, who was delighted with the rows of little bags inside the odd old chest. Dian put his hand again on Lisle’s shoulder. “It belongs to this Lisle,” he said. Then he reached down and picked up a dark-stained piece of paper. There were letters on the paper, burnt into the parchment with the sharp end of a stick. They were so curiously worded that Lisle had to study them, when Dian handed him the paper, before he could make them out. They were in French, but of the old language. After a moment of silence Lisle read very slowly: “In the hour of need thou shall of this treasure give to the creatures who have the sorest want. Keep to thine own that for thy bread. Give of the rest, not to thyself, but to thy brother!” There was silence there in the depths of the earth after Lisle had read from the parchment. It seemed to stay with them all the evening. It seemed almost as though it spoke to them. “Give of the rest, not to thyself, but to thy brother.” Long ago Dian had gone over the bags with the old comte. He and Lisle now put away, in the bottom of the chest, the quaint old coins in their faded bags, handling them tenderly as though they loved them. They decided to take two bags of the more modern money with them.