"_Il sera_ all right," said Willoughby. The officers saluted and went their ways. Jeanne took up her packet and mounted to her little room in a dream. Then she sat down on her bed, the unopened packet by her side, and strove to realize it all. But the only articulate thought came to her in the words which she repeated over and over again: "_Il a fait cela pour moi! Il a fait cela pour moi!_" He had done that for her. It was incredible, fantastic, thrillingly true, like the fairy-tales of her childhood. The little sensitive English soldier, whom his comrades protected, whom she herself in a feminine way longed to protect, had done this for her. In a shy, almost reverent way, she opened out the waterproof covering, as though to reassure herself of the reality of things. For the first time since she left Cambrai a smile came into her eyes, together with grateful tears. "_Il a fait cela pour moi! Il a fait cela pour moi!_" * * * * * A while later she relieved Toinette's guard in the sick-room. "_Eh bien?_ And the two officers?" queried Aunt Morin, after Toinette had gone. "They have stayed a long time. What did they want?" Jeanne was young. She had eaten the bread of dependence, which Aunt Morin, by reason of racial instinct and the stress of sorrow and infirmity, had contrived to render very bitter. She could not repress an exultant note in her voice. Doggie, too, accounted for something; for much. "They came to bring good news, _ma tante_. The English have found all the money and the jewels and the share certificates that Pere Grigou hid in the well of La Folette." "_Mon Dieu!_ It is true?" "_Oui, ma tante._" "And they have restored them to you?" "Yes." "It is extraordinary. It is truly extraordinary. At last these English seem to be good for something. And they found that and gave it to you without taking anything?" "Without taking anything," said Jeanne. Aunt Morin reflected for a few moments, then she stretched out a thin hand. "_Ma petite Jeanne cherie_, you are rich now." "I don't know exactly," replied Jeanne, with a mingling of truth and caution. "I have enough for the present." "How did it all happen?" "It was part of a military operation," said Jeanne. Perhaps later she might tell Aunt Morin about Doggie. But now the thing was too sacred. Aunt Morin would question, question maddeningly, until the rainbow of her fairy-tale was unwoven. The salient fact of the recovery of her fortune should be enough for Aunt Morin. It was. The old woman of the pain-pinched features looked at her wistfully from sunken grey eyes. "And now that you are rich, my little Jeanne, you will not leave your poor old aunt, who loves you so much, to die alone?" "_Ah, mais non! mais non! mais non!_" cried Jeanne indignantly. "What do you think I am made of?" "Ah!" breathed Aunt Morin, comforted.