There was not much said on either side. Courcey came away with
the instrument, leaving the money behind, while Martel grumbled
at the essentially sordid, mercenary spirit of the world. M'sieu
Fortier turned back into the room, after bowing his visitors out
with old-time French courtliness, and turning to the sleepy white
cat, said with a dry sob:

"Minesse, dere's only me an' you now."

About six days later, Courcey's morning dreams were disturbed by
the announcement of a visitor. Hastily doing a toilet, he
descended the stairs to find M'sieu Fortier nervously pacing the
hall floor.

"I come fo' bring back you' money, yaas. I cannot sleep, I
cannot eat, I only cry, and t'ink, and weesh fo' mon violon; and
Minesse, an' de ol' woman too, dey mope an' look bad too, all for
mon violon. I try fo' to use dat money, but eet burn an' sting
lak blood money. I feel lak' I done sol' my child. I cannot go
at l'opera no mo', I t'ink of mon violon. I starve befo' I live
widout. My heart, he is broke, I die for mon violon."

Courcey left the room and returned with the instrument.

"M'sieu Fortier," he said, bowing low, as he handed the case to
the little man, "take your violin; it was a whim with me, a
passion with you. And as for the money, why, keep that too; it
was worth a hundred dollars to have possessed such an instrument
even for six days."