"The cardinal assured me," continued Edward, "that he had no wish to crush Rochelle, and would grant such favorable terms as could not honestly be rejected."
"God grant it!" said Clement Tournon; "but he has us at his mercy, and he knows it. As to the cup, my son, you will find it in the armory, where it stood when you were here before. Where are the keys, Marton? You will find it all safe, and the papers with it,—a letter for you amongst the rest; but I knew not where you were. All the gold and silver is safe; for when the people broke into the house it was food they sought, poor fools! They cared not for gold and silver: they could not eat them."
Marton found the keys and handed them to Edward, by Clement Tournon's orders; and the cup, wrapped in manifold papers and enveloped in an old parchment bag, was soon found. The whole packet was inscribed, in the old goldsmith's own handwriting, with the words, "The cup within belongs to Master Edward Langdale, of Buckley, in the county of Huntingdon, England, left with me for safe-keeping." By the side of the cup lay a letter, surrounded, as was common in those days, with a silken string, tied and sealed; and, on taking it up, Edward instantly recognised the handwriting of good Dr. Winthorne. That was no time for reading, however, and he put the letter in his breast; but his eye could not help glancing over the vast quantity of plate, both gold and silver, which even that one cupboard contained. Taking the cup in his hands, he locked the door, and, returning to the room of the syndic, inquired, with some anxiety, what was to be done for the protection of his property while he was gone.
"Dross, dross, my son," said Clement Tournon. "Yet the door of the room may be as well locked and bolted. Give Marton the key."
"We will take care of it, Master Ned," said Marton. "The boys come back every night,—all who are left of them, poor fellows! but stout John died of the fever, and William the filigree-man soon gave way when we came to want food. Old men and old women have borne it best. But nobody will think of touching the gold and silver. What could they do with it if they had it? All the gold in that room would not buy a pound of beef in Rochelle."
"It were as well to make all safe, however," answered Edward. "I will go and lock all the doors."
"I will come with you," said Clement Tournon, "and see whether I can walk. What you have given me seems to have revived me much, very much. What is it?"
"What you probably never tasted in your life before," said Edward,—"strong waters; and it shows the benefit of reserving the use of them for cases of need. That which kills many a man who uses it freely is now giving you back life, because you have never used it at all. All I have in that flask would not have the slightest effect upon Pierrot la Grange. I trust there is enough there to afford you strength to reach the camp."
"Oh, more than enough,—more than enough," said the good old syndic, whose holy horror of drunkenness made him almost shudder at the idea of what he had been imbibing, although he could not but feel that it had wrought a great and beneficial change upon him. "Now let me see how I can walk."
Edward gave him his arm; but the old man showed much more strength than he expected,—tottered a little in his gait, it is true, and lost his breath before he reached his arm-chair again. But Edward and Marton applied themselves diligently during the next two hours to confirm the progress he had already made, and were not unsuccessful.