Berenger smile, took, expressed admiration by gesture, and then said in a dreamy, uncertain manner, ‘Methought I had some gifts for them;’ then looking round the room, his eye fell on a small brass-bound casket which had travelled with him to hold his valuables; he pointed to it with a pleased look, as Sir Marmaduke lifted it and placed it on a chair by his side. The key, a small ornamental brass one, was in his purse, not far off, and Lady Thistlewood was full of exceeding satisfaction at the unpacking not only of foreign gifts, but, as she hoped, of the pearls; Cecily meantime stole quietly in, to watch that her patient was not over-wearied.
He was resuming the use of his right arm, though it was still weak and stiff, and he evidently had an instinct against letting any one deal with that box but himself; he tried himself to unlock it, and though forced to leave this to Sir Marmaduke, still leant over it when opened, as if to prevent his mother’s curious glances from penetrating its recesses, and allowed no hands near it but his own. He first brought out a pretty feather fan, saying as he held it to his mother, ‘For Nan, I promised it. It was bought at the Halles,’ he added, more dreamily.
Then again he dived, and brought out a wax medallion of Our Lady guarded by angels, and made the sign that always brought Cecily to him. He held it up to her with a puzzled smile, saying, ‘They thought me a mere Papist for buying it—M. de Teligny, I think it was.’
They had heard how the good and beloved Teligny had been shot down on the roof of his father-in-law’s house, by rabid assassins, strangers to his person, when all who knew him had spared him, from love to his gentle nature; and the name gave a strange thrill.
He muttered something about ‘Pedlar,—Montpipeau,’—and still continued. Then came a small silver casket, diffusing an odour of attar of roses—he leant back in his chair—and his mother would have taken it from him, supposing him overcome by the scent, but he held it fast and shook his head, saying, ‘For Lucy,—but she must give it herself. She gave up any gift for herself for it—she said we needed no love-tokens.’ And he closed his eyes. Dame Annora plunged into the unpacking, and brought out a pocket-mirror with enamelled cupids in the corner, addressed to herself; and then came upon Berenger’s own.
Again came a fringed pair of gloves among the personal jewellery such as gentlemen were wont to wear, the rings, clasps and brooches he had carried from home. Dame Annora’s impatience at last found vent in the exclamation, ‘The pearls, son; I do not see the chaplet of pearls.’
‘She had them, ‘answered Berenger, in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘to wear at the masque.’
‘She——’
Sir Marmaduke’s great hand choked, as it were, the query on his wife’s lips, unseen by her son, who, as if the words had touched some chord, was more eagerly seeking in the box, and presently drew out a bow of carnation ribbon with a small piece of paper full of pin-holes attached to it. At once he carried it to his lips, kissed it fervently, and then, sinking back in his chair, seemed to be trying to gather up the memory that had prompted the impulse, knitted his brows together, and then suddenly exclaimed, ‘Where is she?’
His mother tried the last antecedent. ‘Lucy? She shall come and thank you to-morrow.’