"It is I, madame, who am the debtor of so happy an accident."
His words were very low, and his voice shook a little over them; he was
thinking not of the jeweled toy that he came here to restore, but of the
inheritance that had passed away from him forever, and which, possessed,
would have given him the title to seek what his own efforts could do to
wake a look of tenderness in those proud eyes which men ever called so
cold, but which he felt might still soften, and change, and grow dark
with the thoughts and the passions of love, if the soul that gazed
through them were but once stirred from its repose.
"Your chain is here, madame, though broken, I regret to see," he
continued, as he took the little box from his coat and handed it to
her. She took it, and thanked him, without, for the moment, opening the
enamel case as she motioned him to a seat at a little distance from her
own.
"You have been in terrible scenes since I saw you last," she continued.
"The story of Zaraila reached us. Surely they cannot refuse you the
reward of your service now?"
"It will make little difference, madame, whether they do or not."
"Little difference! How is that?"
"To my own fate, I meant. Whether I be captain or a corporal cannot
alter----"
He paused; he dreaded lest the word should escape him which should
reveal to her that which she would regard as such intolerable offense,
such insolent indignity, when felt for her by a soldier in the grade he
held.
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