"You will be released," said the Procureur; "you are now free. But the jewellery will be retained for the present. Later on it may be returned to you."
So, not without many protestations, the fellows went away from Amiens, D'Aunay breathing maledictions against the barbarous laws which permitted honest gentlemen to be arrested and their property confiscated. Yet, he swore, the end was not yet arrived at; when they reached Paris they would soon set the highest legal authorities at work. Also he edified the good people of Amiens by the tenderness and care with which he assisted his suffering friend to mount his horse.
Later in that day they halted for an evening meal on the cool grass at the wayside, and, as D'Aunay helped his comrade from his wallet, he said:
"Jacques, mon ami, observe always the advantage of truth. Had I not mentioned our visit to the cathedral in the earlier part of the evening that cursed ruby would almost have sunk us." Then he wagged his head and took a drink of wine.
"Yet," he continued, "I understand it not. Let us consider. We took the plunder close by the cathedral. In front of the cathedral that other one was slain. None claim the jewels---peste! 'tis hard to lose them. What do you make of it?"
"A fool can see," replied Jacques, as he shifted his wounded leg into an easier position. "Any fool can see that. It was our friend who----"
"Precisely," said D'Aunay. "Precisely. Allons! To Paris."
"And the ruby fell out when we were examining the spoil!"
"Again, precisely. And remember, Jacques, that if we ever meet our friend who once owned the jewels it would be worth while attacking him. Also, above all, Jacques, remember the truth is best. Allons! To Paris!"