It might have done me good now.
I had wearily strapped up one bag, and nearly filled the other, when I came upon something which did, for the moment, rouse the devil in me.
This was the tiny orange-coloured sachet which Mademoiselle had dropped the night I first saw her at the inn, and which, it will be remembered, I picked up.

Since that night I had not seen it, and had as good as forgotten it.

Now, as I folded up my other doublet, the one I had then been wearing, it dropped from my pocket.
The sight of it recalled all--that night, and Mademoiselle's face in the lantern light, and my fine plans, and the end of them; and, in a fit of childish fury, the outcome of long suppressed passion, I snatched up the sachet from the floor and tore it across and across, and flung the pieces down.

As they fell, a cloud of fine pungent dust burst from them, and with the dust, something more solid, which tinkled sharply on the boards, as it fell.

I looked down to see what this was--perhaps I already repented of my act; but for a moment I could see nothing.