She would not look up, though she longed to see what expression the dark face wore, but kept her eyes upon her hand, from which she slowly withdrew a ring. It fitted tightly, for she had had it made years ago, before her slender fingers had finished growing. When at last she had pulled off the jeweled circlet of gold, she held it up, temptingly.
“What I have done, and anything I may yet do, is a pleasure,” said the hunter. “But after all you have learned little of Rhaetia, if you think that we mountain men ever take payment from those to whom we’ve been able to show hospitality.”
“Ah, but I’m not talking of payment,” pleaded the Princess. “I wish only to be sure that you mayn’t forget the first woman who, you tell me, has ever entered this door.”
The young man looked at the door, not at the girl. “It is impossible that I should forget,” said he, almost stiffly.
“Still, it will hurt me if you refuse my ring,” went on Virginia. “Please at least come and see what it’s like.”
He obeyed, and as she still held up the ring, he took it from her that he might examine it more closely.
“The crest of Rhaetia!” he exclaimed, as his eyes fell upon a shield of black and green enamel, set with small, but exceedingly brilliant white diamonds. “How curious. I’ve been wondering that you should speak our language so well—”
“It’s not curious at all, really, but very simple,” said Virginia. “Now”—with a faint tremor in her voice—“press the spring on the left side of the shield, and when you’ve seen what’s underneath, I think you’ll feel that you can’t loyally refuse to accept my little offering.”
The bronze forefinger found a pin’s point protuberance of gold, and pressing sharply, the shield flew up to reveal a tiny but exquisitely painted miniature of Leopold the First of Rhaetia.
The chamois hunter stared at it, and did not speak, but the blood came up to his brown forehead.