Jacques handed the ring back to him with regret showing plainly on his honest face.
“That I am sorry to hear,” he said. “The little one here hath no charm against the Falling Sickness, and I am 83 minded to buy it for her. She has been o’er quiet of late.”
The friar glanced at Jeanne, who had sat listening attentively to his stories with shining eyes. Then he smiled.
“If it is for this little maid who waited not to be bidden to bring me drink when I was weary and thirsty, I will sell,” he said. “Nay, not sell; but if ye are so minded to give alms for a convent that is being builded by the Sisters of Saint Claire, then may you have it. I know in very truth that it will prove efficacious against the Falling Sickness.” Again the priest smiled at Jeanne. There was naught about the pale purity of her face that denoted ill health, and therefore the good priest might speak with authority.
Jacques drew the girl to him, and taking the ring from the Franciscan fitted it to the third finger of her left hand.
“Do you like it, my little one?” he asked.
Jeanne’s eyes glistened. Like most girls she was fond of pretty things, and she had never had a ring. To her it was very precious.
“Are you in truth going to get it for me, father?” she cried.
“Yes.” Jacques nodded, pleased that she liked the trifle. “Isabeau, give the father the alms he wishes so that we may have the ring for the little one. It is given to you by both your mother and myself, my child,” he continued as Isabeau brought forth the alms for the friar. “Wear it as such, and may it protect you not only from the Falling Sickness but from other ills also.”
At this Jeanne threw her arms about his neck, and kissed him, then running to her mother kissed her also.