"In vigor, in force," added Webster.
"And for you three that's all that the word 'robore,' the ablative of the Latin word 'robur' means?"
"Goodness, yes!" they answered. "Robur ... force ... firmness ... energy."
She shrugged her shoulders disdainfully:
"Ah, well, I, who know just about as much Latin as you do, but have the very great advantage over you of being a country girl—to me, when I walk in the country and see that variety of oak which is called the rouvre, it nearly always occurs that the old French word rouvre is derived from the Latin word 'robur,' which means force, and also means oak. And that's what led me, when on the 12th of July I passed, along with you, near the oak, which stands out so prominently in the middle of the clearing, at the beginning of the avenue of oaks—that's what led me to make the connection between that tree and the hiding-place, and so to translate the information which our ancestor untiringly repeated to us: 'I have hidden my fortune in the hollow of a rouvre oak.' There you are. As you perceive,—it's as simple as winking."
Having made her explanation with a charming gayety, she was silent. The three young men gazed at her in wonder and amazement. Her charming eyes were full of her simple satisfaction at having astonished her friends by this uncommon quality, this inexplicable faculty with which she was gifted.
"You are different," said Webster. "You belong to a race ... a race——"
"A race of sound Frenchmen, who have plenty of good sense, like all the French."
"No, no," said he, incapable of formulating the thoughts which oppressed all three of them. "No, no. It's something else."
He bent down before her and brushed her hand with his lips. Errington and Dario also bent down in the same respectful act, while, to hide her emotion she mechanically translated: