“Catherine set off; I tried to make it open its mouth,--my rose-bud was still between its hermetically-sealed teeth; perhaps the collar pressed it: in fact the throat was swelled. I got it off with difficulty; something fell from it at my feet, which I mechanically took up and put into my pocket without looking at, so much was I absorbed in anxiety for the resuscitation. I rubbed him with all my strength; I grew more and more impatient for the return of Catherine. She came with a small new phial in her hand, calling out in her usual manner, ‘Here, sir, here’s the medicine. I never opened my mouth about it to Mademoiselle Amelia; I pity her enough without that.’
“‘What is all this Catherine? where have you seen Mademoiselle Amelia? and what is her affliction, if she does not know of her favourite’s death?’ ‘O, sir, this is a terrible day for the poor young lady. She was at the end of the street searching for a ring which she had lost; and it was no trifle, but the ring that her dead father had got as a present from the Emperor, and worth, they say, more ducats than I have hairs on my head. Her mother lent it to her to day for the party; she has lost it, she knows neither how nor where, and never missed it till she drew off her glove at supper. And, poor soul! the glove was on again in a minute, for fear it should be seen that the ring was wanting, and she slipped out to search for it along the street, but has found nothing.’
“It struck me that the substance that had fallen from the sheep’s collar had the form of a ring--could it possibly be!--I looked at it; and judge of my joy!--it was Madame de Belmont’s ring, and really very beautiful and costly. A secret presentiment whispered to me that this was a better means of presentation than the rose-tree. I pressed the precious ring to my heart, and to my lips; assured myself that the sheep was really dead; and leaving him stretched near the devastated rose-trees, I ran into the street, dismissed those who were seeking in vain, and stationed myself at my door to await the return of my neighbours. I saw from a distance the flambeau that preceded them, quickly distinguished their voices, and comprehended by them, that Amelia had confessed her misfortune. The mother scolded bitterly; the daughter wept, and said, ‘Perhaps it may be found.’ ‘O yes, perhaps,’--replied the mother with irritation, ‘it is too rich a prize to him that finds it; the emperor gave it to your deceased father, on the field, when he saved his life; he set more value on it than on all he possessed besides, and now you have thus flung it away; but the fault is mine for having trusted you with it. For some time back you have seemed quite bewildered.’ I heard all this as I followed at some paces behind them; they reached home; and I had the cruelty to prolong, for some moments more, Amelia’s mortification.--I intended that the treasure should procure me the entrée of their dwelling, and I waited till they had got up stairs. I then had myself announced as the bearer of good news; I was introduced, and respectfully presented the ring to Madame de Belmont: and how delighted seemed Amelia! and how beautifully she brightened in her joy, not alone that the ring was found, but that I was the finder. She cast herself on her mother’s bosom, and turning on me her eyes, humid with tears, though beaming with pleasure, she clasped her hands, exclaiming, ‘O, sir, what obligation, what gratitude do we owe to you!’