"It crossed my mind to ask for a loan, and I was afraid I might offend him," explained the young man. "Quite right, my dear son, quite right. Those wealthy men are peculiar. We will not trouble this rich gentleman. There are other ways." He pointed his thin hand to a little cupboard standing against the wall. "Go and open the door. Within I have a small private box where I keep my papers. Bring it to me, please." Nello obeyed, and carried to him a beautiful little antique casket of ebony, inlaid with tortoise-shell and silver, with some cipher letters on the lid. The old man opened it with a key which he wore attached to a ribbon round his neck. From the small box he carefully produced an antique ring with a tiny miniature portrait, exquisitely painted and set with diamonds. This he pressed reverently to his lips, and then handed it to the young man, saying: "This is the likeness of my honoured Master, my Emperor Napoleon the Third--given to me with his own hand." He took out a jewelled star, all tarnished. "This is the Order of the Chevalier of St. Louis, bestowed upon me for my services to----" He could not finish his sentence; the tears were rolling down his thin, wasted cheeks. Brother and sister exchanged a swift glance across the bed. Evidently, Monsieur Péron had, at one time, been a personage of some importance. Sovereigns did not bestow such gifts upon undistinguished people. "Take that ring and the Order," commanded the old man in his feeble, husky voice. "Go and pawn them. If you cannot get enough by pawning, sell them outright. And buy a dress-suit with the money to-day." Both Nello and his sister protested. These two objects and the piano were all that the old man had preserved out of his brilliant past. Corsini spoke. "Listen, dear Papa! You would not part with these when we had not enough to eat. I can understand what they represent to you. Do not worry about me. I will go to Degraux in a couple of days and explain the situation. Even if he is annoyed, he will have gone too far to recede." But Péron was persistent. A flash of his old imperiousness came back to him. "Go and do as I tell you. My days are numbered. My one hope is that I may live to see you successful. Go and dress yourself properly. Let me hear of your success before I die; that is all I wish." The strain of the interview had been too much for him. Taken with a violent fit of coughing, he sank back exhausted on his pillow. Anita pointed to the door. "You cannot disobey his wishes. Come back and tell him you have done what he asked you. It may give him a few days more of life." The young man, fearing the old man's death, rushed round to the nearest pawnbroker in Wardour Street. Upon the ring alone he raised sufficient to hire a dress-suit at a neighbouring costumier's. On his return he was overjoyed to find that the poor Papa had rallied from his exhaustion.