"Yes," said Anne, in a tone of great contentment, and bestowed on his friend one of those infrequent smiles of his, sudden and shy, at the same time sliding his hand into the strong, wasted one lying idly near it on the coverlet. A thrill ran up Fortuné's arm. Ever since he had seen Anne standing by the door he had been conscious of a strange sensation, as if, with the advent of the child who had sailed the seas with him on that wild adventure, there had begun to blow through his hot brain the first whisper of a clean and joyous breath that came from the waves themselves. A moment or two ago, those lips had made him an annunciation the full meaning of which he could hardly grasp. Now, at the little warm touch, his eyes were suddenly opened, and he saw the tainted memory in his heart as only a handful of dead dust, not worth the keeping, fit only to be scattered on that wind of morning. It was the past, useless and done with, a thing long dead. . . . Here, close to him, touching him, smiling at him, enshrined in this child who had no past, shone the future, like something gallant and green with the dew on it, and, blowing over it, that strong, fresh wind. The worthless burden he had carried for years fell from him. He too could have what René de Flavigny had, the air of morning at his gates--nay, morning's self. . . . In the almost physical sense of deliverance he must have gripped Anne-Hilarion's hand very hard, for the child gave a movement. "Little pigeon, have I hurt you?" cried La Vireville, instantly penitent, releasing the imprisoned hand. "I am so sorry. . . . I did not know that I was still so strong." At the moment, indeed, he hardly knew anything--scarcely, even, what he was saying. Anne-Hilarion carried the injured member to his mouth for a second or two, then he put it back in La Vireville's palm. "I am very glad that you are so strong, M. le Chevalier," he said valiantly. "Perhaps you will soon be quite well again. I hope so very much. And then--what are you going to do?" "What am I going to do, Anne?" A little while ago, under that cloud of lassitude and depression, the question would have seemed a mockery. "Well, you know--or you will soon know--that they had to cut off my other arm, but I can still hold a sword--and hurt a small boy's hand, eh? When I get quite better I shall go back to the heather, and the sea, and perhaps . . ." He broke off and fell silent, staring at his visitor with an air compound of bewilderment and meditation. "Meanwhile, am I not to see the new goldfish?" Anne-Hilarion slipped promptly from the bed and ran to the corner by the door. Anon, raising himself from his stooping position, and carrying it between his hands with even more than his accustomed care, he came back with his trophy. His eyes were very bright.