He gave her the other also, and she compared their weight. With a roguish lifting of her nostrils she inquired,—
“Will every bit of you turn to metal like this heavy hand?”
“Alas, no, mademoiselle; there is no hope of that.”
Tonty stripped his gauntlet off. With half afraid fingers she examined the artificial member. It was of copper.
“Where is the old one, monsieur?”
“It was blown off by a grenade at Messina last year.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Not now. Except when I think of the service of Monsieur de la Salle, and of my being thus pieced out as a man.”
Barbe measured his height and breadth and warm-toned face with satisfied eyes. She consoled him.