The Chevalier took the rings and slipped them on his fingers, all save the signet ring, which he handed to his lackey.
"Keep this, lad, till I ask for it," was all he said.
Breton put the ring in the little chamois bag which his mother had given him.

The ring rattled against a little silver crucifix.

The lad then returned to the cabin and read his favorite book till his eyes grew weary.

He looked about for a marker and espied some papers on the floor.

These he thrust into his place and fell to dreaming.
Each afternoon the Chevalier was carried up to the deck; and what with the salt air and the natural vigor which he inherited from his father, the invalid's bones began to take on flesh and his interest in life became normal.