Keys had rolled from the Chevalier's pockets--keys, coins, and rings; and Breton scrambled and slid around on his hands and knees till he had recovered these treasures, which he knew to be all his master had.

He thought of the elegant rubies and sapphires and topaz of the garters he had ordered for his master but four months gone.

And that mysterious lady of high degree?
Paris! Alas, Paris was so far away that he, Breton, was like to see it never again.
He stood up, balanced himself, and his eye caught sight of the grey cloak, which lay crumpled under the bunk.
"Ah! so it is you, wretched cloak, that gave way when I clung to you for help ?" He stooped and dragged it forth by its skirts.

"So it was you ?" swinging it fiercely above his head and balancing himself nicely.
The bruise on his forehead made him savage.

"Whatever made me bring you to the Corne d'Abondance?
What could you not tell, if voice were given to you?
And Monsieur Paul used to look so fine in it! You make me cold in the spine!" He shook it again and again, then hung it up by the torn collar, which had yielded over-readily to his frenzied grasp.
As the ache in his head subsided, so diminished the strength of his wrath; and he went out to ask the Chevalier if he should keep the valuables in his own pocket or replace them in the pocket of the pantaloons from which they had fallen.