"Well, Martin, the cave—the hall I came to at last was more splendid than any Versailles can show. And then I knew that I had found—Black Bartlemy's Treasure!"
"Ha!" quoth I. "And is it indeed so great?"
"Beyond description!" says she, clasping her floury hands and turning on me with shining eyes. "I have held in my hands, jewels—O by the handful! Great pearls and diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires—beyond price!"
"Aye!" I nodded, "But was this all?"
"All, Martin?" says she, staring.
"Why, according to Adam there should be all manner of stores," says I, "powder and shot, tools—a carpenter's chest—"
"They are all there, with provisions of every kind; as witness this flour, Martin, but I heeded only these wondrous jewels!" Hereupon she turns to her work again, describing to me the splendour of these precious stones and the wonder of Bartlemy's treasure, whiles I, viewing her loveliness, would have given such foolish treasure a thousand times for but her little finger, as watching the play of her round arms again, I fell a-sighing, whereupon she turns, all anxious questioning.
"Doth your wound trouble you, Martin?"
"Nay, indeed," says I, shaking my head, "I am very well, I thank you!"
"Then wherefore sigh so deep and oft?"