‘I am coming to it now, Mademoiselle,’ I said gravely. ‘It is a simple matter. You remember the afternoon when I followed you--clumsily and thoughtlessly perhaps--through the wood to restore these things? In seeming that happened about a month ago. I believe that it happened the day before yesterday. You called me then some very harsh names, which I will not hurt you by repeating. The only price I ask for the restoration of your jewels is that you on your part recall those names.’ ‘How?’ she muttered. ‘I do not understand.’ I repeated my words very slowly. ‘The only price or reward I ask, Mademoiselle, is that you take back those names and say that they were not deserved.’ ‘And the jewels?’ she exclaimed hoarsely. ‘They are yours. They are not mine. They are nothing to me. Take them, and say that you do not think of me--Nay, I cannot say the words, Mademoiselle.’ ‘But there is something--else! What else?’ she cried, her head thrown back, her eyes, bright as any wild animal’s, searching mine. ‘Ha! my brother? What of him? What of him, sir?’ ‘For him, Mademoiselle--I would prefer that you should tell me no more than I know already,’ I answered in a low voice. ‘I do not wish to be in that affair. But yes; there is one thing I have not mentioned. You are right.’ She sighed so deeply that I caught the sound. ‘It is,’ I continued slowly, ‘that you will permit me to remain at Cocheforet for a few days while the soldiers are here. I am told that there are twenty men and two officers quartered in your house. Your brother is away. I ask to be permitted, Mademoiselle, to take his place for the time, and to be privileged to protect your sister and yourself from insult. That is all.’ She raised her hand to her head. After a long pause,-- ‘The frogs!’ she muttered, ‘they croak! I can not hear.’ Then, to my surprise, she turned quickly and suddenly on her heel, and walked over the bridge, leaving me standing there. For a moment I stood aghast, peering after her shadowy figure, and wondering what had taken her. Then, in a minute or less, she came quickly back to me, and I understood. She was crying. ‘M. de Barthe,’ she said, in a trembling voice, which told me that the victory was won, ‘is there nothing else? Have you no other penance for me?’ ‘None, Mademoiselle.’ She had drawn the shawl over her head, and I no longer saw her face. ‘That is all you ask?’ she murmured. ‘That is all I ask--now,’ I answered.