diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 6232.txt | 2833 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 6232.zip | bin | 0 -> 57734 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 |
5 files changed, 2849 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6232.txt b/6232.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..53b7c86 --- /dev/null +++ b/6232.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2833 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook The Battle Of The Strong, by G. Parker, v3 +#59 in our series by Gilbert Parker + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**EBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These EBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers***** + + +Title: The Battle Of The Strong [A Romance of Two Kingdoms], Volume 3. + +Author: Gilbert Parker + +Release Date: August, 2004 [EBook #6232] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 10, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + + + + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BATTLE OF THE STRONG, PARKER, V3 *** + + + +This eBook was produced by David Widger + + + + + +THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG + +[A ROMANCE OF TWO KINGDOMS] + +By Gilbert Parker + + +Volume 3. + + +CHAPTER XVI + +The night and morning after Guida's marriage came and went. The day drew +on to the hour fixed for the going of the Narcissus. Guida had worked +all forenoon with a feverish unrest, not trusting herself, though the +temptation was sore, to go where she might see Philip's vessel lying in +the tide-way. She had resolved that only at the moment fixed for sailing +would she go to the shore; yet from her kitchen door she could see a wide +acreage of blue water and a perfect sky; and out there was Noirmont +Point, round which her husband's ship would go, and be lost to her vision +thereafter. + +The day wore on. She got her grandfather's dinner, saw him bestowed in +the great arm-chair for his afternoon sleep, and, when her household work +was done, settled herself at the spinning wheel. + +The old man loved to have her spin and sing as he drowsed. To-day his +eyes had followed her everywhere. He could not have told why it was, but +somehow all at once he seemed to deeply realise her--her beauty, the joy +of this innocent living intelligence moving through his home. She had +always been necessary to him, but he had taken her presence as a matter +of course. She had always been to him the most wonderful child ever +given to comfort an old man's life, but now as he abstractedly took a +pinch of snuff from the silver box and then forgot to put it to his nose, +he seemed suddenly to get that clearness of sight, that perspective, from +which he could see her as she really was. He took another pinch of +snuff, and again forgot to put it to his nose, but brushed imaginary dust +from his coat, as was his wont, and whispered to himself: + +"Why now, why now, I had not thought she was so much a woman. Flowers +of the sea, but what eyes, what carriage, and what an air! I had not +thought--h'm--blind old bat that I am--I had not thought she was grown +such a lady. It was only yesterday, surely but yesterday, since I rocked +her to sleep. Francois de Mauprat"--he shook his head at himself--"you +are growing old. Let me see--why, yes, she was born the day I sold the +blue enamelled timepiece to his Highness the Duc de Mauban. The Duc was +but putting the watch to his ear when a message comes to say the child +there is born. 'Good,' says the Duc de Mauban, when he hears, 'give me +the honour, de Mauprat,' says he, 'for the sake of old days in France, to +offer a name to the brave innocent--for the sake of old associations,' +says de Mauban. 'You knew my wife, de Mauprat,' says he; 'you knew the +Duchesse Guida-Guidabaldine. She's been gone these ten years, alas! You +were with me when we were married, de Mauprat,' says the Duc; 'I should +care to return the compliment if you will allow me to offer a name, eh?' +'Duc,' said I, 'there is no honour I more desire for my grandchild.' +'Then let the name of Guidabaldine be somewhere among others she will +carry, and--and I'll not forget her, de Mauprat, I'll not forget her.'... +Eh, eh, I wonder--I wonder if he has forgotten the little Guidabaldine +there? He sent her a golden cup for the christening, but I wonder-- +I wonder--if he has forgotten her since? So quick of tongue, so bright +of eye, so light of foot, so sweet a face--if one could but be always +young! When her grandmother, my wife, my Julie, when she was young--ah, +she was fair, fairer than Guida, but not so tall--not quite so tall. +Ah! . . . " + +He was slipping away into sleep when he realised that Guida was singing + + "Spin, spin, belle Mergaton! + The moon wheels full, and the tide flows high, + And your wedding-gown you must put it on + Ere the night hath no moon in the sky-- + Gigoton Mergaton, spin!" + +"I had never thought she was so much a woman," he said drowsily; "I-- +I wonder why--I never noticed it." + +He roused himself again, brushed imaginary snuff from his coat, keeping +time with his foot to the wheel as it went round. "I--I suppose she will +wed soon. . . . I had forgotten. But she must marry well, she must +marry well--she is the godchild of the Duc de Mauban. How the wheel goes +round! I used to hear--her mother--sing that song, 'Gigoton, Mergaton +spin-spin-spin.'" He was asleep. + +Guida put by the wheel, and left the house. Passing through the Rue des +Sablons, she came to the shore. It was high tide. This was the time +that Philip's ship was to go. She had dressed herself with as much care +as to what might please his eye as though she were going to meet him in +person. Not without reason, for, though she could not see him from the +land, she knew he could see her plainly through his telescope, if he +chose. + +She reached the shore. The time had come for him to go, but there was +his ship at anchor in the tide-way still. Perhaps the Narcissus was not +going; perhaps, after all, Philip was to remain! She laughed with +pleasure at the thought of that. Her eyes wandered lovingly over the +ship which was her husband's home upon the sea. Just such another vessel +Philip would command. At a word from him those guns, like long, black, +threatening arms thrust out, would strike for England with thunder and +fire. + +A bugle call came across the still water, clear, vibrant, and compelling. +It represented power. Power--that was what Philip, with his ship, would +stand for in the name of England. Danger--oh yes, there would be danger, +but Heaven would be good to her; Philip should go safe through storm and +war, and some day great honours would be done him. He should be an +admiral, and more perhaps; he had said so. He was going to do it as much +for her as for himself, and when he had done it, to be proud of it more +for her than for himself; he had said so: she believed in him utterly. +Since that day upon the Ecrehos it had never occurred to her not to +believe him. Where she gave her faith she gave it wholly; where she +withdrew it-- + +The bugle call sounded again. Perhaps that was the signal to set sail. +No, a boat was putting out from the Narcissus. It was coming landward. +As she watched its approach she heard a chorus of boisterous voices +behind her. She turned and saw nearing the shore from the Rue d'Egypte a +half-dozen sailors, singing cheerily: + + "Get you on, get you on, get you on, + Get you on to your fo'c'stle'ome; + Leave your lassies, leave your beer, + For the bugle what you 'ear + Pipes you on to your fo'c'stle 'ome-- + 'Ome--'ome--'ome, + Pipes you on to your fo'c'stle 'ome." + +Guida drew near. + +"The Narcissus is not leaving to-day?" she asked of the foremost sailor. + +The man touched his cap. "Not to-day, lady." + +"When does she leave?" + +"Well, that's more nor I can say, lady, but the cap'n of the main-top, +yander, 'e knows." + +She approached the captain of the main-top. "When does the Narcissus +leave?" she asked. + +He looked her up and down, at first glance with something like boldness, +but instantly he touched his hat. + +"To-morrow, mistress--she leaves at 'igh tide tomorrow." + +With an eye for a fee or a bribe, he drew a little away from the others, +and said to her in a low tone: "Is there anything what I could do for +you, mistress? P'r'aps you wanted some word carried aboard, lady?" + +She hesitated an instant, then said: "No-no, thank you." + +He still waited, however, rubbing his hand on his hip with mock +bashfulness. There was an instant's pause, then she divined his meaning. + +She took from her pocket a shilling. She had never given away so much +money in her life before, but she seemed to feel instinctively that now +she must give freely--now that she was the wife of an officer of the +navy. Strange how these sailors to-day seemed so different to her from +ever before--she felt as if they all belonged to her. She offered the +shilling to the captain of the main-top. His eyes gloated, but he said +with an affected surprise: + +"No, I couldn't think of it, yer leddyship." + +"Ah, but you will take it!" she said. "I--I have a r-relative"--she +hesitated at the word--" in the navy." + +"'Ave you now, yer leddyship?" he said. "Well, then, I'm proud to 'ave +the shilling to drink 'is 'ealth, yer leddyship." + +He touched his hat, and was about to turn away. "Stay a little," she +said with bashful boldness. The joy of giving was rapidly growing to a +vice. "Here's something for them," she added, nodding towards his +fellows, and a second shilling came from her pocket. "Just as you say, +yer leddyship," he said with owlish gravity; "but for my part I think +they've 'ad enough. I don't 'old with temptin' the weak passions of +man." + +A moment afterwards the sailors were in the boat, rowing towards the +Narcissus. Their song came back across the water: + + ". . . O you A.B. sailor-man, + Wet your whistle while you can, + For the piping of the bugle calls you 'ome! + 'Ome--'ome--'ome, + Calls you on to your fo'c'stle 'ome!" + +The evening came down, and Guida sat in the kitchen doorway looking out +over the sea, and wondering why Philip had sent her no message. Of +course he would not come himself, he must not: he had promised her. But +how much she would have liked to see him for just one minute, to feel his +arms about her, to hear him say good-bye once more. Yet she loved him +the better for not coming. + +By and by she became very restless. She would have been almost happier +if he had gone that day: he was within call of her, still they were not +to see each other. + +She walked up and down the garden, Biribi the dog by her side. Sitting +down on the bench beneath the appletree, she recalled every word that +Philip had said to her two days before. Every tone of his voice, every +look he had given her, she went over in her thoughts. There is no +reporting in the world so exact, so perfect, as that in a woman's mind, +of the words, looks, and acts of her lover in the first days of mutual +confession and understanding. + +It can come but once, this dream, fantasy, illusion--call it what you +will: it belongs to the birth hour of a new and powerful feeling; it is +the first sunrise of the heart. What comes after may be the calmer joy +of a more truthful, a less ideal emotion, but the transitory glory of the +love and passion of youth shoots higher than all other glories into the +sky of time. The splendour of youth is its madness, and the splendour of +that madness is its unconquerable belief. And great is the strength of +it, because violence alone can destroy it. It does not yield to time nor +to decay, to the long wash of experience that wears away the stone, nor +to disintegration. It is always broken into pieces at a blow. In the +morning all is well, and ere the evening come the radiant temple is in +ruins. + +At night when Guida went to bed she could not sleep at first. Then came +a drowsing, a floating between waking and sleeping, in which a hundred +swift images of her short past flashed through her mind: + +A butterfly darting in the white haze of a dusty road, and the cap of the +careless lad that struck it down.... Berry-picking along the hedges +beyond the quarries of Mont Mado, and washing her hands in the strange +green pools at the bottom of the quarries. . . . Stooping to a stream +and saying of it to a lad: "Ro, won't it never come back?" . . . From +the front doorway watching a poor criminal shrink beneath the lash with +which he was being flogged from the Vier Marchi to the Vier Prison. . . +Seeing a procession of bride and bridegroom with young men and women gay +in ribbons and pretty cottons, calling from house to house to receive the +good wishes of their friends, and drinking cinnamon wine and mulled +cider--the frolic, the gaiety of it all. Now, in a room full of people, +she was standing on a veille flourished with posies of broom and +wildflowers, and Philip was there beside her, and he was holding her +hand, and they were waiting and waiting for some one who never came. +Nobody took any notice of her and Philip, she thought; they stood there +waiting and waiting--why, there was M. Savary dit Detricand in the +doorway, waving a handkerchief at her, and saying: "I've found it--I've +found it!"--and she awoke with a start. + +Her heart was beating hard, and for a moment she was dazed; but presently +she went to sleep again, and dreamed once more. + +This time she was on a great warship, in a storm which was driving +towards a rocky shore. The sea was washing over the deck. She +recognised the shore: it was the cliff at Plemont in the north of Jersey, +and behind the ship lay the awful Paternosters. They were drifting, +drifting on the wall of rock. High above on the land there was a +solitary stone hut. The ship came nearer and nearer. The storm +increased in strength. In the midst of the violence she looked up and +saw a man standing in the doorway of the hut. He turned his face towards +her: it was Ranulph Delagarde, and he had a rope in his hand. He saw her +and called to her, making ready to throw the rope, but suddenly some one +drew her back. She cried aloud, and then all grew black. . . . + +And then, again, she knew she was in a small, dark cabin of the ship. +She could hear the storm breaking over the deck. Now the ship struck. +She could feel her grinding upon the rocks. She seemed to be sinking, +sinking--There was a knocking, knocking at the door of the cabin, and a +voice calling to her--how far away it seemed! . . . Was she dying, +was she drowning? The words of a nursery rhyme rang in her ears +distinctly, keeping time to the knocking. She wondered who should be +singing a nursery rhyme on a sinking ship: + + "La main morte, + La main morte, + Tapp' a la porte, + Tapp' a la porte." + +She shuddered. Why should the dead hand tap at her door? Yet there it +was tapping louder, louder. . . . She struggled, she tried to cry +out, then suddenly she grew quiet, and the tapping got fainter and +fainter--her eyes opened: she was awake. + +For an instant she did not know where she was. Was it a dream still? +For there was a tapping, tapping at her door--no, it was at the window. +A shiver ran through her from head to foot. Her heart almost stopped +beating. Some one was calling to her. + +"Guida! Guida!" + +It was Philip's voice. Her cheek had been cold the moment before; now +she felt the blood tingling in her face. She slid to the floor, threw a +shawl round her, and went to the casement. + +The tapping began again. For a moment she could not open the window. +She was trembling from head to foot. Philip's voice reassured her a +little. + +"Guida, Guida, open the window a moment." + +She hesitated. She could not--no--she could not do it. He tapped still +louder. + +"Guida, don't you hear me?" he asked. + +She undid the catch, but she had hardly the courage even yet. He heard +her now, and pressed the window a little. Then she opened it slowly, and +her white face showed. + +"O Philip," she said breathlessly, "why have you frightened me so?" + +He caught her hand in his own. "Come out into the garden, sweetheart," +he said, and he kissed the hand. "Put on a dress and your slippers and +come," he urged again. + +"Philip," she said, "O Philip, I cannot! It is too late. It is +midnight. Do not ask me. Why, why did you come?" + +"Because I wanted to speak with you for one minute. I have only a little +while. Please come outside and say good-bye to me again. We are sailing +to-morrow--there's no doubt about it this time." + +"O Philip," she answered, her voice quivering, "how can I? Say good-bye +to me here, now." + +"No, no, Guida, you must come. I can't kiss you good-bye where you are." + +"Must I come to you?" she said helplessly. "Well, then, Philip," she +added, "go to the bench by the apple-tree, and I shall be there in a +moment." + +"Beloved!" he exclaimed ardently. She shut the window slowly. + +For a moment he looked about him; then went lightly through the garden, +and sat down on the bench under the apple-tree, near to the summer-house. +At last he heard her footstep. He rose quickly to meet her, and as she +came timidly to him, clasped her in his arms. + +"Philip," she said, "this isn't right. You ought not to have come; you +have broken your promise." + +"Are you not glad to see me?" + +"Oh, you know, you know that I'm glad to see you, but you shouldn't have +come--hark! what's that?" They both held their breath, for there was a +sound outside the garden wall. Clac-clac! clac-clac!--a strange, uncanny +footstep. It seemed to be hurrying away--clac-clac! clac-clac! + +"Ah, I know," whispered Guida: "it is Dormy Jamais. How foolish of me to +be afraid!" + +"Of course, of course," said Philip--"Dormy Jamais, the man who never +sleeps." + +"Philip--if he saw us!" + +"Foolish child, the garden wall is too high for that. Besides--" + +"Yes, Philip?" + +"Besides, you are my wife, Guida!" + +"No, no, Philip, no; not really so until all the world is told." + +"My beloved Guida, what difference can that make?" She sighed and shook +her head. "To me, Philip, it is only that which makes it right--that the +whole world knows. Philip, I am so afraid of--of secrecy, and cheating." + +"Nonsense-nonsense!" he answered. "Poor little wood-bird, you're +frightened at nothing at all. Come and sit by me." He drew her close to +him. + +Her trembling presently grew less. Hundreds of glow-worms were +shimmering in the hedge. The grass-hoppers were whirring in the mielles +beyond; a flutter of wings went by overhead. The leaves were rustling +gently; a fresh wind was coming up from the sea upon the soft, fragrant +dusk. + +They talked a little while in whispers, her hands in his, his voice +soothing her, his low, hurried words giving her no time to think. +But presently she shivered again, though her heart was throbbing hotly. + +"Come into the summer-house, Guida; you are cold, you are shivering." +He rose, with his arm round her waist, raising her gently at the same +time. + +"Oh no, Philip dear," she said, "I'm not really cold--I don't know what +it is--" + +"But indeed you are cold," he answered. "There's a stiff south-easter +rising, and your hands are like ice. Come into the arbour for a minute. +It's warm there, and then--then we'll say good-bye, sweetheart." + +His arm round her, he drew her with him to the summer-house, talking to +her tenderly all the time. There was reassurance, comfort, loving care +in his very tones. + +How brightly the stars shone, how clearly the music of the stream came +over the hedge! With what lazy restfulness the distant All's well +floated across the mielles from a ship at anchor in the tide-way, how +like a slumber-song the wash of the sea rolled drowsily along the wind! +How gracious the smell of the earth, drinking up the dew of the affluent +air, which the sun, on the morrow, should turn into life-blood for the +grass and trees and flowers! + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +Philip was gone. Before breakfast was set upon the table, Guida saw the +Narcissus sail round Noirmont Point and disappear. + +Her face had taken on a new expression since yesterday. An old touch of +dreaminess, of vague anticipation was gone--that look which belongs to +youth, which feels the confident charm of the unknown future. Life was +revealed; but, together with joy, wonder and pain informed the +revelation. + +A marvel was upon her. Her life was linked to another's, she was a wife. +She was no longer sole captain of herself. Philip would signal, and she +must come until either he or she should die. He had taken her hand, and +she must never let it go; the breath of his being must henceforth give +her new and healthy life, or inbreed a fever which should corrode the +heart and burn away the spirit. Young though she was, she realised it-- +but without defining it. The new-found knowledge was diffused in her +character, expressed in her face. + +Seldom had a day of Guida's life been so busy. It seemed to her that +people came and went far more than usual. She talked, she laughed a +little, she answered back the pleasantries of the seafaring folk who +passed her doorway or her garden. She was attentive to her grandfather; +exact with her household duties. But all the time she was thinking-- +thinking--thinking. Now and again she smiled, but at times too tears +sprang to her eyes, to be quickly dried. More than once she drew in her +breath with a quick, sibilant sound, as though some thought wounded her; +and she flushed suddenly, then turned pale, then came to her natural +colour again. + +Among those who chanced to visit the cottage was Maitresse Aimable. She +came to ask Guida to go with her and Jean to the island of Sark, twelve +miles away, where Guida had never been. They would only be gone one +night, and, as Maitresse Aimable said, the Sieur de Mauprat could very +well make shift for once. + +The invitation came to Guida like water to thirsty ground. She longed to +get away from the town, to be where she could breathe; for all this day +the earth seemed too small for breath: she gasped for the sea, to be +alone there. To sail with Jean Touzel was practically to be alone, +for Maitresse Aimable never talked; and Jean knew Guida's ways, knew when +she wished to be quiet. In Jersey phrase, he saw beyond his spectacles-- +great brass-rimmed things, giving a droll, childlike kind of wisdom to +his red rotund face. + +Having issued her invitation, Maitresse Aimable smiled placidly and +seemed about to leave, when, all at once, without any warning, she +lowered herself like a vast crate upon the veille, and sat there looking +at Guida. + +At first the grave inquiry of her look startled Guida. She was beginning +to know that sensitive fear assailing those tortured by a secret. How +she loathed this secrecy! How guilty she now felt, where, indeed, no +guilt was! She longed to call aloud her name, her new name, from the +housetops. + +The voice of Maitresse Aimable roused her. Her ponderous visitor had +made a discovery which had yet been made by no other human being. Her +own absurd romance, her ancient illusion, had taught her to know when +love lay behind another woman's face. And after her fashion, Maitresse +Aimable loved Jean Touzel as it is given to few to love. + +"I was sixteen when I fell in love; you're seventeen--you," she said. +"Ah bah, so it goes!" + +Guida's face crimsoned. What--how much did Maitresse Aimable know? By +what necromancy had this fat, silent fisher-wife learned the secret which +was the heart of her life, the soul of her being--which was Philip? She +was frightened, but danger made her cautious. + +"Can you guess who it is?" she asked, without replying directly to the +oblique charge. + +"It is not Maitre Ranulph," answered her friendly inquisitor; "it is not +that M'sieu' Detricand, the vaurien." Guida flushed with annoyance. "It +is not that farmer Blampied, with fifty vergees, all potatoes; it is not +M'sieu' Janvrin, that bat'd'lagoule of an ecrivain. Ah bah, so it goes!" + +"Who is it, then?" persisted Guida. "Eh ben, that is the thing!" + +"How can you tell that one is in love, Maitresse Aimable? "persisted +Guida. + +The other smiled with a torturing placidity, then opened her mouth; +but nothing came of it. She watched Guida moving about the kitchen +abstractedly. Her eye wandered to the racllyi, with its flitches of +bacon, to the dreschiaux and the sanded floor, to the great Elizabethan +oak chair, and at last back to Guida, as though through her the lost +voice might be charmed up again. + +The eyes of the two met now, fairly, firmly; and Guida was conscious of a +look in the other's face which she had never seen before. Had then a new +sight been given to herself? She saw and understood the look in +Maitresse Aimable's face, and instantly knew it to be the same that was +in her own. + +With a sudden impulse she dropped the bashin she was polishing, and, +going over quickly, she silently laid her cheek against her old friend's. +She could feel the huge breast heave, she felt the vast face turn hot, +she was conscious of a voice struggling back to life, and she heard it +say at last: + +"Gatd'en'ale, rosemary tea cures a cough, but nothing cures the love--ah +bah, so it goes!" + +"Do you love Jean?" whispered Guida, not showing her face, but longing +to hear the experience of another who suffered that joy called love. + +Maitresse Aimable's face grew hotter; she did not speak, but patted +Guida's back with her heavy hand and nodded complacently. + +"Have you always loved him?" asked Guida again, with an eager +inquisition, akin to that of a wayside sinner turned chapel-going saint, +hungry to hear what chanced to others when treading the primrose path. + +Maitresse Aimable again nodded, and her arm drew closer about Guida. +There was a slight pause, then came an unsophisticated question: + +"Has Jean always loved you?" + +A short silence, and then the voice said with the deliberate prudence of +an unwilling witness: + +"It is not the man who wears the wedding-ring." Then, as if she had been +disloyal in even suggesting that Jean might hold her lightly, she added, +almost eagerly--an enthusiasm tempered by the pathos of a half-truth: + +"But my Jean always sleeps at home." + +This larger excursion into speech gave her courage, and she said more; +and even as Guida listened hungrily--so soon had come upon her the +apprehensions and wavering moods of loving woman!--she was wondering to +hear this creature, considered so dull by all, speak as though out of a +watchful and capable mind. What further Maitresse Aimable said was proof +that if she knew little and spake little, she knew that little well; and +if she had gathered meagrely from life, she had at least winnowed out +some small handfuls of grain from the straw and chaff. At last her +sagacity impelled her to say: + +"If a man's eyes won't see, elder-water can't make him; if he will--ah +bah, glad and good!" Both arms went round Guida, and hugged her +awkwardly. + +Her voice came up but once more that morning. As she left Guida in the +doorway, she said with a last effort: + +"I will have one bead to pray for you, trejous." She showed her rosary, +and, Huguenot though she was, Guida touched the bead reverently. "And if +there is war, I will have two beads, trejous. A bi'tot--good-bye!" + +Guida stood watching her from the doorway, and the last words of the +fisher-wife kept repeating themselves through her brain: "And if there is +war, I will have two beads, trejous." + +So, Maitresse Aimable knew she loved Philip! How strange it was that one +should read so truly without words spoken, or through seeing acts which +reveal. She herself seemed to read Maitresse Aimable all at once--read +her by virtue, and in the light, of true love, the primitive and +consuming feeling in the breast of each for a man. Were not words +necessary for speech after all? But here she stopped short suddenly; +for if love might find and read love, why was it she needed speech of +Philip? Why was it her spirit kept beating up against the hedge beyond +which his inner self was, and, unable to see that beyond, needed +reassurance by words, by promises and protestations? + +All at once she was angry with herself for thinking thus concerning +Philip. Of course Philip loved her deeply. Had she not seen the light +of true love in his eyes, and felt the arms of love about her? Suddenly +she shuddered and grew bitter, and a strange rebellion broke loose in +her. Why had Philip failed to keep his promise not to see her again +after the marriage, till he should return from Portsmouth? It was +selfish, painfully, terribly selfish of him. Why, even though she had +been foolish in her request--why had he not done as she wished? Was that +love--was it love to break the first promise he had ever made to his +wife? + +Yet she excused him to herself. Men were different from women, and men +did not understand what troubled a woman's heart and spirit; they were +not shaken by the same gusts of emotion; they--they were not so fine; +they did not think so deeply on what a woman, when she loves, thinks +always, and acts upon according to her thought. If Philip were only here +to resolve these fears, these perplexities, to quiet the storm in her! +And yet, could he--could he? For now she felt that this storm was +rooting up something very deep and radical in her. It frightened her, +but for the moment she fought it passionately. + +She went into her garden; and here among her animals and her flowers it +seemed easier to be gay of heart; and she laughed a little, and was most +tender and pretty with her grandfather when he came home from spending +the afternoon with the Chevalier. + +In this manner the first day of her marriage passed--in happy +reminiscence and in vague foreboding; in affection yet in reproach +as the secret wife; and still as the loving, distracted girl, frightened +at her own bitterness, but knowing it to be justified. + +The late evening was spent in gaiety with her grandfather and the +Chevalier; but at night when she went to bed she could not sleep. She +tossed from side to side; a hundred thoughts came and went. She grew +feverish, her breath choked her, and she got up and opened the window. +It was clear, bright moonlight, and from where she was she could see the +mielles and the ocean and the star-sown sky above and beyond. There she +sat and thought and thought till morning. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +At precisely the same moment in the morning two boats set sail from the +south coast of Jersey: one from Grouville Bay, and one from the harbour +of St. Heliers. Both were bound for the same point; but the first was to +sail round the east coast of the island, and the second round the west +coast. + +The boat leaving Grouville Bay would have on her right the Ecrehos and +the coast of France, with the Dirouilles in her course; the other would +have the wide Atlantic on her left, and the Paternosters in her course. +The two converging lines should meet at the island of Sark. + +The boat leaving Grouville Bay was a yacht carrying twelve swivel-guns, +bringing Admiralty despatches to the Channel Islands. The boat leaving +St. Heliers harbour was a new yawl-rigged craft owned by Jean Touzel. It +was the fruit of ten years' labour, and he called her the Hardi Biaou, +which, in plain English, means "very beautiful." This was the third time +she had sailed under Jean's hand. She carried two carronades, for war +with France was in the air, and it was Jean's whim to make a show of +preparation, for, as he said: "If the war-dogs come, my pups can bark +too. If they don't, why, glad and good, the Hardi Biaou is big enough to +hold the cough-drops." + +The business of the yacht Dorset was important that was why so small a +boat was sent on the Admiralty's affairs. Had she been a sloop she might +have attracted the attention of a French frigate or privateer wandering +the seas in the interests of Vive la Nation! The business of the yawl +was quite unimportant. Jean Touzel was going to Sark with kegs of wine +and tobacco for the seigneur, and to bring over whatever small cargo +might be waiting for Jersey. The yacht Dorset had aboard her the +Reverend Lorenzo Dow, an old friend of her commander. He was to be +dropped at Sark, and was to come back with Jean Touzel in the Hardi +Biaou, the matter having been arranged the evening before in the Vier +Marchi. The saucy yawl had aboard Maitresse Aimable, Guida, and a lad to +assist Jean in working the sails. Guida counted as one of the crew, for +there was little in the handling of a boat she did not know. + +As the Hardi Biaou was leaving the harbour of St. Heliers, Jean told +Guida that Mr. Dow was to join them on the return journey. She had a +thrill of excitement, for this man was privy to her secret, he was +connected with her life history. But before the little boat passed St. +Brelade's Bay she was lost in other thoughts: in picturing Philip on the +Narcissus, in inwardly conning the ambitious designs of his career. What +he might yet be, who could tell? She had read more than a little of the +doings of great naval commanders, both French and British. She knew how +simple midshipmen had sometimes become admirals, and afterwards peers of +the realm. + +Suddenly a new thought came to her. Suppose that Philip should rise to +high places, would she be able to follow? What had she seen--what did +she know--what social opportunities had been hers? How would she fit +with an exalted station? + +Yet Philip had said that she could take her place anywhere with grace and +dignity; and surely Philip knew. If she were gauche or crude in manners, +he would not have cared for her; if she were not intelligent, he would +scarcely have loved her. Of course she had read French and English to +some purpose; she could speak Spanish--her grandfather had taught her +that; she understood Italian fairly--she had read it aloud on Sunday +evenings with the Chevalier. Then there were Corneille, Shakespeare, +Petrarch, Cervantes--she had read them all; and even Wace, the old Norman +trouvere, whose Roman de Rou she knew almost by heart. Was she so very +ignorant? + +There was only one thing to do: she must interest herself in what +interested Philip; she must read what he read; she must study naval +history; she must learn every little thing about a ship of war. Then +Philip would be able to talk with her of all he did at sea, and she would +understand. + +When, a few days ago, she had said to him that she did not know how she +was going to be all that his wife ought to be, he had answered her: "All +I ask is that you be your own sweet self, for it is just you that I want, +you with your own thoughts and imaginings, and not a Guida who has +dropped her own way of looking at things to take on some one else's--even +mine. It's the people who try to be clever who never are; the people who +are clever never think of trying to be." + +Was Philip right? Was she really, in some way, a little bit clever? She +would like to believe so, for then she would be a better companion for +him. After all, how little she knew of Philip--now, why did that thought +always come up! It made her shudder. They two would really have to +begin with the A B C of understanding. To understand was a passion, it +was breathing and life to her. She would never, could never, be +satisfied with skimming the surface of life as the gulls out there +skimmed the water. . . . Ah, how beautiful the morning was, and how +the bracing air soothed her feverishness! All this sky, and light, and +uplifting sea were hers, they fed her with their strength--they were all +so companionable. + +Since Philip had gone--and that was but four days ago--she had sat down +a dozen times to write to him, but each time found she could not. She, +drew back from it because she wanted to empty out her heart, and yet, +somehow, she dared not. She wanted to tell Philip all the feelings that +possessed her; but how dared she write just what she felt: love and +bitterness, joy and indignation, exaltation and disappointment, all in +one? How was it these could all exist in a woman's heart at once? Was +it because Love was greater than all, deeper than all, overcame all, +forgave all? and was that what women felt and did always? Was that +their lot, their destiny? Must they begin in blind faith, then be +plunged into the darkness of disillusion, shaken by the storm of emotion, +taste the sting in the fruit of the tree of knowledge--and go on again +the same, yet not the same? + +More or less incoherently these thoughts flitted through Guida's mind. +As yet her experiences were too new for her to fasten securely upon their +meaning. In a day or two she would write to Philip freely and warmly of +her love and of her hopes; for, maybe, by that time nothing but happiness +would be left in the caldron of feeling. There was a packet going to +England in three days--yes, she would wait for that. And Philip--alas! +a letter from him could not reach her for at least a fortnight yet; and +then in another month after that he would be with her, and she would be +able to tell the whole world that she was the wife of Captain Philip +d'Avranche, of the good ship Araminta--for that he was to be when he came +again. + +She was not sad now, indeed she was almost happy, for her thoughts had +brought her so close to Philip that she could feel his blue eyes looking +at her, the strong clasp of his hand. She could almost touch the brown +hair waving back carelessly from the forehead, untouched by powder, in +the fashion of the time; and she could hear his cheery laugh quite +plainly, so complete was the illusion. + +St. Ouen's Bay, l'Etacq, Plemont, dropped behind them as they sailed. +They drew on to where the rocks of the Paternosters foamed to the unquiet +sea. Far over between the Nez du Guet and the sprawling granite pack of +the Dirouilles, was the Admiralty yacht winging to the nor'-west. Beyond +it again lay the coast of France, the tall white cliffs, the dark blue +smoky curve ending in Cap de la Hague. + +To-day there was something new in this picture of the coast of France. +Against the far-off sands were some little black spots, seemingly no +bigger than a man's hand. Again and again Jean Touzel had eyed these +moving specks with serious interest; and Maitresse Aimable eyed Jean, +for Jean never looked so often at anything without good reason. If, +perchance, he looked three times at her consecutively, she gaped with +expectation, hoping that he would tell her that her face was not so red +to-day as usual--a mark of rare affection. + +At last Guida noticed Jean's look. "What is it that you see, Maitre +Jean?" she said. + +"Little black wasps, I think, ma'm'selle-little black wasps that sting." + +Guida did not understand. + +Jean gave a curious cackle, and continued: "Ah, those wasps--they have a +sting so nasty!" He paused an instant, then he added in a lower voice, +and not quite so gaily: "Yon is the way that war begins." + +Guida's fingers suddenly clinched rigidly upon the tiller. "War? Do--do +you think that's a French fleet, Maitre Jean?" + +"Steadee--steadee-keep her head up, ma'm'selle," he answered, for Guida +had steered unsteadily for the instant. "Steadee--shale ben! that's +right--I remember twenty years ago the black wasps they fly on the coast +of France like that. Who can tell now?" He shrugged his shoulders. +"P'rhaps they are coum out to play, but see you, when there is trouble in +the nest it is my notion that wasps come out to sting. Look at France +now, they all fight each other there, ma fuifre! When folks begin to +slap faces at home, look out when they get into the street. That is when +the devil have a grand fete." + +Guida's face grew paler as he spoke. The eyes of Maitresse Aimable were +fixed on her now, and unconsciously the ponderous good-wife felt in that +warehouse she called her pocket for her rosary. An extra bead was there +for Guida, and one for another than Guida. But Maltresse Aimable did +more: she dived into the well of silence for her voice; and for the first +time in her life she showed anger with Jean. As her voice came forth she +coloured, her cheeks expanded, and the words sallied out in puffs: + +"Nannin, Jean, you smell shark when it is but herring. You cry wasp when +the critchett sing. I will believe war when I see the splinters fly-- +me!" + +Jean looked at his wife in astonishment. That was the longest speech +he had ever heard her make. It was also the first time that her rasp of +criticism had ever been applied to him, and with such asperity too. He +could not make it out. He looked from his wife to Guida; then, suddenly +arrested by the look in her face, he scratched his shaggy head in +despair, and moved about in his seat. + +"Sit you still, Jean," said his wife sharply; "you're like peas on a hot +griddle." + +This confused Jean beyond recovery, for never in his life had Aimable +spoken to him like that. He saw there was something wrong, and he did +not know whether to speak or hold his tongue; or, as he said to himself, +he "didn't know which eye to wink." He adjusted his spectacles, and, +pulling himself together, muttered: "Smoke of thunder, what's all this?" + +Guida wasn't a wisp of quality to shiver with terror at the mere mention +of war with France; but ba su, thought Jean, there was now in her face a +sharp, fixed look of pain, in her eyes a bewildered anxiety. + +Jean scratched his head still more. Nothing particular came of that. +There was no good trying to work the thing out suddenly, he wasn't clever +enough. Then out of an habitual good-nature he tried to bring better +weather fore and aft. + +"Eh ben," said he, "in the dark you can't tell a wasp from a honey-bee +till he lights on you; and that's too far off there"--he jerked a finger +towards the French shore--"to be certain sure. But if the wasp nip, you +make him pay for it, the head and the tail--yes, I think -me. . . . +There's the Eperquerie," he added quickly, nodding in front of him. + +The island of Sark lifted a green bosom above her perpendicular cliffs, +with the pride of an affluent mother among her brood. Dowered by sun and +softened by a delicate haze like an exquisite veil of modesty, this +youngest daughter of the isles clustered with her kinsfolk in the emerald +archipelago between the great seas. + +The outlines of the coast grew plainer as the Hardi Biaou drew nearer and +nearer. From end to end there was no harbour upon this southern side. +There was no roadway, as it seemed no pathway at all up the overhanging +cliffs-ridges of granite and grey and green rock, belted with mist, +crowned by sun, and fretted by the milky, upcasting surf. Little +islands, like outworks before it, crouched slumberously to the sea, as a +dog lays its head in its paws and hugs the ground close, with vague, +soft-blinking eyes. + +By the shore the air was white with sea-gulls flying and circling, rising +and descending, shooting up straight into the air; their bodies smooth +and long like the body of a babe in white samite, their feathering tails +spread like a fan, their wings expanding on the ambient air. In the tall +cliffs were the nests of dried seaweed, fastened to the edge of a rocky +bracket on lofty ledges, the little ones within piping to the little ones +without. Every point of rock had its sentinel gull, looking-looking out +to sea like some watchful defender of a mystic city. Piercing might be +the cries of pain or of joy from the earth, more piercing were their +cries; dark and dreadful might be the woe of those who went down to the +sea in ships, but they shrilled on unheeding, their yellow beaks still +yellowing in the sun, keeping their everlasting watch and ward. + +Now and again other birds, dark, quick-winged, low-flying, shot in among +the white companies of sea-gulls, stretching their long necks, and +turning their swift, cowardly eyes here and there, the cruel beak +extended, the body gorged with carrion. Black marauders among blithe +birds of peace and joy, they watched like sable spirits near the nests, +or on some near sea rocks, sombre and alone, blinked evilly at the tall +bright cliffs and the lightsome legions nestling there. + +These swart loiterers by the happy nests of the young were like spirits +of fate who might not destroy, who had no power to harm the living, yet +who could not be driven forth: the ever-present death-heads at the feast, +the impressive acolytes by the altars of destiny. + +As the Hardi Biaou drew near the lofty, inviolate cliffs, there opened up +sombre clefts and caverns, honeycombing the island at all points of the +compass. She slipped past rugged pinnacles, like buttresses to the +island, here trailed with vines, valanced with shrubs of unnameable +beauty, and yonder shrivelled and bare like the skin of an elephant. + +Some rocks, indeed, were like vast animals round which molten granite had +been poured, preserving them eternally. The heads of great dogs, like +the dogs of Ossian, sprang out in profile from the repulsing mainland; +stupendous gargoyles grinned at them from dark points of excoriated +cliff. Farther off, the face of a battered sphinx stared with unheeding +look into the vast sea and sky beyond. From the dark depths of mystic +crypts came groanings, like the roaring of lions penned beside the caves +of martyrs. + +Jean had startled Guida with his suggestions of war between England and +France. Though she longed to have Philip win glory in some great battle, +yet her first natural thought was of danger to the man she loved--and the +chance too of his not coming back to her from Portsmouth. But now as she +looked at this scene before her, there came again to her face the old +charm of blitheness. The tides of temperament in her were fast to flow +and quick to ebb. The reaction from pain was in proportion to her +splendid natural health. + +Her lips smiled. For what can long depress the youthful and the loving +when they dream that they are entirely beloved? Lands and thrones may +perish, plague and devastation walk abroad with death, misery and beggary +crawl naked to the doorway, and crime cower in the hedges; but to the +egregious egotism of young love there are only two identities bulking +in the crowded universe. To these immensities all other beings are +audacious who dream of being even comfortable and obscure--happiness +would be a presumption; as though Fate intended each living human being +at some one moment to have the whole world to himself. And who shall cry +out against that egotism with which all are diseased? + +So busy was Guida with her own thoughts that she scarcely noticed they +had changed their course, and were skirting the coast westerly, whereby +to reach Havre Gosselin on the other side of the island. There on the +shore above lay the seigneurie, the destination of the Hardi Biaou. + +As they passed the western point of the island, and made their course +easterly by a channel between rocky bulwarks opening Havre Gosselin, they +suddenly saw a brig rounding the Eperquerie. She was making to the +south-east under full sail. Her main and mizzen masts were not visible, +and her colours could not be seen, but Jean's quick eye had lighted on +something which made him cast apprehensive glances at his wife and Guida. +There was a gun in the stern port-hole of the vanishing brig; and he also +noted that it was run out for action. + +His swift glance at his wife and Guida assured him that they had not +noticed the gun. + +Jean's brain began working with unusual celerity. He was certain that +the brig was a French sloop or a privateer. In other circumstances, that +in itself might not have given him much trouble of mind, for more than +once French frigates had sailed round the Channel Isles in insulting +strength and mockery; but at this moment every man knew that France and +England were only waiting to see who should throw the ball first and set +the red game going. Twenty French frigates could do little harm to the +island of Sark; a hundred men could keep off an army and navy there; but +Jean knew that the Admiralty yacht Dorset was sailing at this moment +within half a league of the Eperquerie. He would stake his life that the +brig was French and hostile and knew it also. At all costs he must +follow and learn the fate of the yacht. + +If he landed at Havre Gosselin and crossed the island on foot, whatever +was to happen would be over and done, and that did not suit the book of +Jean Touzel. More than once he had seen a little fighting, and more than +once shared in it. If there was to be a fight--he looked affectionately +at his carronades--then he wanted to be within seeing or striking +distance. + +Instead of running into Havre Gosselin, he set for the Bec du Nez, the +eastern point of the island. His object was to land upon the rocks of +the Eperquerie, where the women would be safe whatever befell. The tide +was running strong round the point, and the surf was heavy, so that once +or twice the boat was almost overturned; but Jean had measured well the +currents and the wind. + +This was one of the most exciting moments in his life, for, as they +rounded the Bec du Nez, there was the Dorset going about to make for +Guernsey, and the brig, under full sail, bearing down upon her. Even as +they rounded the point, up ran the tricolour to the brig's mizzen-mast, +and the militant shouts of the French sailors came over the water. + +Too late had the little yacht with her handful of guns seen the danger +and gone about. The wind was fair for her; but it was as fair for the +brig, able to outsail her twice over. As the Hardi Biaou neared the +landing-place of the Eperquerie, a gun was fired from the privateer +across the bows of the Dorset, and Guida realised what was happening. + +As they landed another shot was fired, then came a broadside. Guida put +her hands before her eyes, and when she looked again the main-mast of the +yacht was gone. And now from the heights of Sark above there rang out a +cry from the lips of the affrighted islanders: "War--war--war--war!" + +Guida sank down upon the rock, and her face dropped into her hands. She +trembled violently. Somehow all at once, and for the first time in her +life, there was borne in upon her a feeling of awful desolation and +loneliness. She was alone--she was alone--she was alone that was the +refrain of her thoughts. + +The cry of war rang along the cliff tops; and war would take Philip from +her. Perhaps she would never see him again. The horror of it, the pity +of it, the peril of it. + +Shot after shot the twelve-pounders of the Frenchman drove like dun hail +at the white timbers of the yacht, and her masts and spars were flying. +The privateer now came drawing down to where she lay lurching. + +A hand touched Guida upon the shoulder. "Cheer thee, my dee-ar," said +Maitresse Aimable's voice. Below, Jean Touzel had eyes only for this +sea-fight before him, for, despite the enormous difference, the +Englishmen were now fighting their little craft for all that she was +capable. But the odds were terribly against her, though she had the +windward side, and the firing of the privateer was bad. The carronades +on her flush decks were replying valiantly to the twelve-pounders of the +brig. At last a chance shot carried away her mizzenmast, and another +dismounted her single great gun, killing a number of men. The +carronades, good for only a few discharges, soon left her to the fury of +her assailant, and presently the Dorset was no better than a battered +raisin-box. Her commander had destroyed his despatches, and nothing +remained now but to be sunk or surrender. + +In not more than twenty minutes from the time the first shot was fired, +the commander and his brave little crew yielded to the foe, and the +Dorset's flag was hauled down. + +When her officers and men were transferred to the Frenchman, her one +passenger and guest, the Rev. Lorenzo Dow, passed calmly from the gallant +little wreck to the deck of the privateer, with a finger between the +leaves of his book of meditations. With as much equanimity as he would +have breakfasted with a bishop, made breaches of the rubric, or drunk +from a sailor's black-jack, he went calmly into captivity in France, +giving no thought to what he left behind; quite heedless that his going +would affect for good or ill the destiny of the young wife of Philip +d'Avranche. + +Guida watched the yacht go down, and the brig bear away towards France +where those black wasps of war were as motes against the white sands. +Then she remembered that there had gone with it one of the three people +in the world who knew her secret, the man who had married her to Philip. +She shivered a little, she scarcely knew why, for it did not then seem of +consequence to her whether Mr. Dow went or stayed, though he had never +given her the marriage certificate. Indeed, was it not better he should +go? Thereby one less would know her secret. But still an undefined fear +possessed her. + +"Cheer thee, cheer thee, my dee-ar, my sweet dormitte," said Maitresse +Aimable, patting her shoulder. "It cannot harm thee, ba su! 'Tis but a +flash in the pan." + +Guida's first impulse was to throw herself into the arms of the slow- +tongued, great-hearted woman who hung above her like a cloud of mercy, +and tell her whole story. But no, she would keep her word to Philip, +till Philip came again. Her love--the love of the young, lonely wife, +must be buried deep in her own heart until he appeared and gave her the +right to speak. + +Jean was calling to them. They rose to go. Guida looked about her. Was +it all a dream-all that had happened to her, and around her? The world +was sweet to look upon, and yet was it true that here before her eyes +there had been war, and that out of war peril must come to her. + +A week ago she was free as air, happy as healthy body, truthful mind, +simple nature, and tender love can make a human being. She was then only +a young, young girl. To-day-she sighed. + +Long after they put out to sea again she could still hear the affrighted +cry of the peasants from the cliff-or was it only the plaintive echo of +her own thoughts? + +"War--war--war--war!" + + + + +IN FRANCE--NEAR FIVE MONTHS AFTER + +CHAPTER XIX + +"A moment, monsieur le duc." + +The Duke turned at the door, and looked with listless inquiry into the +face of the Minister of Marine, who, picking up an official paper from +his table, ran an eye down it, marked a point with the sharp corner of +his snuff-box, and handed it over to his visitor, saying: + +"Our roster of English prisoners taken in the action off Brest." + +The Duke, puzzled, lifted his glass and scanned the roll mechanically. + +"No, no, Duke, just where I have marked," interposed the Minister. + +"My dear Monsieur Dalbarade," remarked the Duke a little querulously, +"I do not see what interest--" + +He stopped short, however, looked closer at the document, and then +lowering it in a sort of amazement, seemed about to speak; but, instead, +raised the paper again and fixed his eyes intently on the spot indicated +by the Minister. + +"Most curious," he said after a moment, making little nods of his head +towards Dalbarade; "my own name--and an English prisoner, you say?" + +"Precisely so; and he gave our fellows some hard knocks before his +frigate went on the reefs." + +"Strange that the name should be my own. I never heard of an English +branch of our family." + +A quizzical smile passed over the face of the Minister, adding to his +visitor's mystification. "But suppose he were English, yet French too?" +he rejoined. + +"I fail to understand the entanglement," answered the Duke stiffly. + +"He is an Englishman whose name and native language are French--he speaks +as good French as your own." + +The Duke peevishly tapped a chair with his stick. "I am no reader +of riddles, monsieur," he said acidly, although eager to know more +concerning this Englishman of the same name as himself, ruler of the +sovereign duchy of Bercy. + +"Shall I bid him enter, Prince?" asked the Minister. The Duke's face +relaxed a little, for the truth was, at this moment of his long life he +was deeply concerned with his own name and all who bore it. + +"Is he here then?" he asked, nodding assent. + +"In the next room," answered the Minister, turning to a bell and ringing. +"I have him here for examination, and was but beginning when I was +honoured by your Highness's presence." He bowed politely, yet there was, +too, a little mockery in the bow, which did not escape the Duke. These +were days when princes received but little respect in France. + +A subaltern entered, received an order, and disappeared. The Duke +withdrew to the embrasure of a window, and immediately the prisoner was +gruffly announced. + +The young Englishman stood quietly waiting, his quick eyes going from +Dalbarade to the wizened figure by the window, and back again to the +Minister. His look carried both calmness and defiance, but the defiance +came only from a sense of injury and unmerited disgrace. + +"Monsieur," said the Minister with austerity, "in your further +examination we shall need to repeat some questions." + +The prisoner nodded indifferently, and for a brief space there was +silence. The Duke stood by the window, the Minister by his table, the +prisoner near the door. Suddenly the prisoner, with an abrupt motion of +the hand towards two chairs, said with an assumption of ordinary +politeness: + +"Will you not be seated?" + +The remark was so odd in its coolness and effrontery, that the Duke +chuckled audibly. The Minister was completely taken aback. He glanced +stupidly at the two chairs--the only ones in the room--and at the +prisoner. Then the insolence of the thing began to work upon him, and he +was about to burst forth, when the Duke came forward, and politely moving +a chair near to the young commander, said: + +"My distinguished compliments, monsieur le capitaine. I pray you accept +this chair." + +With quiet self-possession and a matter-of-course air the prisoner bowed +politely, and seated himself, then with a motion of the hand backward +towards the door, said to the Duke: "I've been standing five hours with +some of those moutons in the ante-room. My profound thanks to +monseigneur." + +Touching the angry Minister on the arm, the Duke said quietly: + +"Dear monsieur, will you permit me a few questions to the prisoner?" + +At that instant there came a tap at the door, and an orderly entered with +a letter to the Minister, who glanced at it hurriedly, then turned to the +prisoner and the Duke, as though in doubt what to do. + +"I will be responsible for the prisoner, if you must leave us," said the +Duke at once. + +"For a little, for a little--a matter of moment with the Minister of +War," answered Dalbarade, nodding, and with an air of abstraction left +the room. + +The Duke withdrew to the window again, and seated himself in the +embrasure, at some little distance from the Englishman, who at once got +up and brought his chair closer. The warm sunlight of spring, streaming +through the window, was now upon his pale face, and strengthened it, +giving it fulness and the eye fire. + +"How long have you been a prisoner, monsieur?" asked the Duke, at the +same time acknowledging the other's politeness with a bow. + +"Since March, monseigneur." + +"Monseigneur again--a man of judgment," said the Duke to himself, pleased +to have his exalted station recognised. "H'm, and it is now June--four +months, monsieur. You have been well used, monsieur?" + +"Vilely, monseigneur," answered the other; "a shipwrecked enemy should +never be made prisoner, or at least he should be enlarged on parole; but +I have been confined like a pirate in a sink of a jail." + +"Of what country are you?" + +Raising his eyebrows in amazement the young man answered: + +"I am an Englishman, monseigneur." + +"Monsieur is of England, then?" + +"Monseigneur, I am an English officer." + +"You speak French well, monsieur." + +"Which serves me well in France, as you see, monseigneur." + +The Duke was a trifle nettled. "Where were you born, monsieur?" + +There was a short pause, and then the prisoner, who had enjoyed the +other's perplexity, said: + +"On the Isle of Jersey, monseigneur." + +The petulant look passed immediately from the face of the Duke; the +horizon was clear at once. + +"Ah, then, you are French, monsieur!" + +"My flag is the English flag; I was born a British subject, and I shall +die one," answered the other steadily. + +"The sentiment sounds estimable," answered the Duke; "but as for life and +death, and what we are or what we may be, we are the sport of Fate." His +brow clouded. "I myself was born under a monarchy; I shall probably die +under a Republic. I was born a Frenchman; I may die--" + +His tone had become low and cynical, and he broke off suddenly, as though +he had said more than he meant. "Then you are a Norman, monsieur," he +added in a louder tone. + +"Once all Jerseymen were Normans, and so were many Englishmen, +monseigneur." + +"I come of Norman stock too, monsieur," remarked the Duke graciously, yet +eyeing the young man keenly. + +"Monseigneur has not the kindred advantage of being English?" added the +prisoner dryly. + +The Duke protested with a deprecatory wave of the fingers and a flash of +the sharp eyes, and then, after a slight pause, said: "What is your name, +monsieur?" + +"Philip d'Avranche," was the brief reply; then with droll impudence: "And +monseigneur's, by monseigneur's leave?" + +The Duke smiled, and that smile relieved the sourness, the fret of a face +which had care and discontent written upon every line of it. It was a +face that had never known happiness. It had known diversion, however, +and unusual diversion it knew at this moment. + +"My name," he answered with a penetrating quizzical look, "--my name is +Philip d'Avranche." + +The young man's quick, watchful eyes fixed themselves like needles on the +Duke's face. Through his brain there ran a succession of queries and +speculations, and dominating them all one clear question-was he to gain +anything by this strange conversation? Who was this great man with a +name the same as his own, this crabbed nobleman with skin as yellow as an +orange, and body like an orange squeezed dry? He surely meant him no +harm, however, for flashes of kindliness had lighted the shrivelled face +as he talked. His look was bent in piercing comment upon Philip, who, +trying hard to solve the mystery, now made a tentative rejoinder to his +strange statement. Rising from his chair and bowing, he said, with +shrewd foreknowledge of the effect of his words: + +"I had not before thought my own name of such consequence." + +The old man grunted amiably. "My faith, the very name begets a towering +conceit wherever it goes," he answered, and he brought his stick down on +the floor with such vehemence that the emerald and ruby rings rattled on +his shrunken fingers. + +"Be seated--cousin," he said with dry compliment, for Philip had remained +standing, as if with the unfeigned respect of a cadet in the august +presence of the head of his house. It was a sudden and bold suggestion, +and it was not lost on the Duke. The aged nobleman was too keen an +observer not to see the designed flattery, but he was in a mood when +flattery was palatable, seeing that many of his own class were arrayed +against him for not having joined the army of the Vendee; and that the +Revolutionists, with whom he had compromised, for the safety of his lands +of d'Avranche and his duchy of Bercy, regarded him with suspicion. +Between the two, the old man--at heart most profoundly a Royalist--bided +his time, in some peril but with no fear. The spirit of this young +Englishman of his own name pleased him; the flattery, patent as it was, +gratified him, for in revolutionary France few treated him with deference +now. Even the Minister of Marine, with whom he was on good terms, called +him "citizen" at times. + +All at once it flashed on the younger man that this must be the Prince +d'Avranche, Duc de Bercy, of that family of d'Avranche from which his own +came in long descent--even from the days of Rollo, Duke of Normandy. He +recalled on the instant the token of fealty of the ancient House of +d'Avranche--the offering of a sword. + +"Your Serene Highness," he said with great deference and as great tact, +"I must first offer my homage to the Prince d'Avranche, Duc de Bercy--" +Then with a sudden pause, and a whimsical look, he added: "But, indeed, +I had forgotten, they have taken away my sword!" + +"We shall see," answered the Prince, well pleased, "we shall see about +that sword. Be seated." Then, after a short pause: "Tell me now, +monsieur, of your family, of your ancestry." + +His eyes were bent on Philip with great intentness, and his thin lips +tightened in some unaccountable agitation. + +Philip instantly responded. He explained how in the early part of the +thirteenth century, after the great crusade against the Albigenses, a +cadet of the house of d'Avranche had emigrated to England, and had come +to place and honour under Henry III, who gave to the son of this +d'Avranche certain tracts of land in Jersey, where he settled. Philip +was descended in a direct line from this same receiver of king's favours, +and was now the only representative of his family. + +While Philip spoke the Duke never took eyes from his face--that face so +facile in the display of feeling or emotion. The voice also had a lilt +of health and vitality which rang on the ears of age pleasantly. As he +listened he thought of his eldest son, partly imbecile, all but a lusus +naturae, separated from his wife immediately after marriage, through whom +there could never be succession--he thought of him, and for the millionth +time in his life winced in impotent disdain. He thought too of his +beloved second son, lying in a soldier's grave in Macedonia; of the +buoyant resonance of that by-gone voice, of the soldierly good spirits +like to the good spirits of the prisoner before him, and "his heart +yearned towards the young man exceedingly." If that second son had but +lived there would be now no compromising with this Republican Government +of France; he would be fighting for the white flag with the golden lilies +over in the Vendee. + +"Your ancestors were mine, then," remarked the Duke gravely, after a +pause, "though I had not heard of that emigration to England. However +--however! Come, tell me of the engagement in which you lost your ship," +he added hurriedly in a low tone. He was now so intent that he did not +stir in his seat, but sat rigidly still, regarding Philip kindly. +Something in the last few moments' experience had loosened the puckered +skin, softened the crabbed look in the face, and Philip had no longer +doubt of his friendly intentions. + +"I had the frigate Araminta, twenty-four guns, a fortnight out from +Portsmouth," responded Philip at once. "We fell in with a French +frigate, thirty guns. She was well to leeward of us, and the Araminta +bore up under all sail, keen for action. The Frenchman was as ready as +ourselves for a brush, and tried to get the weather of us, but, failing, +she shortened sail and gallantly waited for us. The Araminta overhauled +her on the weather quarter, and hailed. She responded with cheers and +defiance--as sturdy a foe as man could wish. We lost no time in getting +to work, and, both running before the wind, we fired broadsides as we +cracked on. It was tit-for-tat for a while with splinters flying and +neither of us in the eye of advantage, but at last the Araminta shot away +the main-mast and wheel of the Niobe, and she wallowed like a tub in the +trough of the sea. We bore down on her, and our carronades raked her +like a comb. Then we fell thwart her hawse, and tore her up through her +bowline-ports with a couple of thirty-two-pounders. But before we could +board her she veered, lurched, and fell upon us, carrying away our +foremast. We cut clear of the tangle, and were making once more to board +her, when I saw to windward two French frigates bearing down on us under +full sail. And then--" + +The Prince exclaimed in surprise: "I had not heard of this," he said. +"They did not tell the world of those odds against you." + +"Odds and to spare, monsieur le due! We had had all we could manage in +the Niobe, though she was now disabled, and we could hurt her no more. +If the others came up on our weather we should be chewed like a bone in a +mastiff's jaws. If she must fight again, the Araminta would be little +fit for action till we cleared away the wreckage; so I sheered off to +make all sail. We ran under courses with what canvas we had, and got +away with a fair breeze and a good squall whitening to windward, while +our decks were cleared for action again. The guns on the main-deck had +done good service and kept their places. On the quarter-deck and +fo'castle there was more amiss, but as I watched the frigates overhauling +us I took heart of grace still. There was the creaking and screaming of +the carronade-slides, the rattling of the carriages of the long twelve- +pounders amidships as they were shotted and run out again, the thud of +the carpenters' hammers as the shot-holes were plugged--good sounds in +the ears of a fighter--" + +"Of a d'Avranche--of a d'Avranche!" interposed the Prince. + +"We were in no bad way, and my men were ready for another brush with our +enemies, everything being done that could be done, everything in its +place," continued Philip. "When the frigates were a fair gunshot off, I +saw that the squall was overhauling us faster than they. This meant good +fortune if we wished escape, bad luck if we would rather fight. But I +had no time to think of that, for up comes Shoreham, my lieutenant, with +a face all white. 'For God's sake, sir,' says he, 'shoal water-shoal +water! We're ashore.' So much, monsieur le prince, for Admiralty charts +and soundings! It's a hateful thing to see--the light green water, the +deadly sissing of the straight narrow ripple like the grooves of a wash- +board: and a ship's length ahead the water breaking over the reefs, two +frigates behind ready to eat us. + +"Up we came to the wind, the sheets were let run, and away flew the +halyards. All to no purpose, for a minute later we came broadside on the +reef, and were gored on a pinnacle of rock. The end wasn't long in +coming. The Araminta lurched off the reef on the swell. We watched our +chance as she rolled, and hove overboard our broadside of long twelve- +pounders. But it was no use. The swishing of the water as it spouted +from the scuppers was a deal louder than the clang of the chain-pumps. +It didn't last long. The gale spilled itself upon us, and the Araminta, +sick and spent, slowly settled down. The last I saw of her"--Philip +raised his voice as though he would hide what he felt behind an +unsentimental loudness--"was the white pennant at the main-top gallant +masthead. A little while, and then I didn't see it, and--and so good-bye +to my first command! Then"--he smiled ironically--"then I was made +prisoner by the French frigates, and have been closely confined ever +since, against every decent principle of warfare. And now here I am, +monsieur le duc." + +The Duke had listened with an immovable attention, the grey eyebrows +twitching now and then, the arid face betraying a grim enjoyment. When +Philip had finished, he still sat looking at him with steady slow- +blinking eyes, as though unwilling to break the spell the tale had thrown +round him. But an inquisition in the look, a slight cocking of the head +as though weighing important things, the ringed fingers softly drumming +on the stick before him--all these told Philip that something was at +stake concerning himself. + +The Duke seemed about to speak, when the door of the room opened and +the Minister of Marine entered. The Duke, rising and courteously laying +a hand on his arm, drew him over to the window, and engaged him in +whispered conversation, of which the subject seemed unwelcome to the +Minister, for now and then he interrupted sharply. + +As the two stood fretfully debating, the door of the room again opened. +There appeared an athletic, adventurous-looking officer in brilliant +uniform who was smiling at something called after him from the +antechamber. His blue coat was spick and span and very gay with double +embroidery at the collar, coat-tails, and pockets. His white waistcoat +and trousers were spotless; his netted sash of blue with its stars on the +silver tassels had a look of studied elegance. The black three-cornered +hat, broidered with gold, and adorned with three ostrich tips of red and +a white and blue aigrette, was, however, the glory of his bravery. He +seemed young to be a General of Division, for such his double +embroideries and aigrette proclaimed him. + +He glanced at Philip, and replied to his salute with a half-quizzical +smile on his proud and forceful face. "Dalbarade, Dalbarade," said he +to the Minister, "I have but an hour--ah, monsieur le prince!" he added +suddenly, as the latter came hurriedly towards him, and, grasping his +hand warmly, drew him over to Dalbarade at the window. Philip now knew +beyond doubt that he was the subject of debate, for all the time that the +Duke in a low tone, half cordial, half querulous, spoke to the new-comer, +the latter let his eyes wander curiously towards Philip. That he was an +officer of great importance was to be seen from the deference paid him by +Dalbarade. + +All at once he made a polite gesture towards the Duke, and, facing the +Minister, said in a cavalier-like tone, and with a touch of patronage: +"Yes, yes, Dalbarade; it is of no consequence, and I myself will be +surety for both." Then turning to the nobleman, he added: "We are +beginning to square accounts, Duke. Last time we met I had a large +favour of you, and to-day you have a small favour of me. Pray introduce +your kinsman here, before you take him with you," and he turned squarely +towards Philip. + +Philip could scarcely believe his ears. The Duke's kinsman! Had the +Duke then got his release on the ground that they were of kin--a kinship +which, even to be authentic, must go back seven centuries for proof? + +Yet here he was being introduced to the revolutionary general as "my +kinsman of the isles of Normandy." Here, too, was the same General +Grandjon-Larisse applauding him on his rare fortune to be thus released +on parole through the Duc de Bercy, and quoting with a laugh, half sneer +and half raillery, the old Norman proverb: "A Norman dead a thousand +years cries Haro! Haro! if you tread on his grave." + +So saying, he saluted the Duke with a liberal flourish of the hand and a +friendly bow, and turned away to Dalbarade. + +A half-hour later Philip was outside with the Duke, walking slowly +through the court-yard to an open gateway, where waited a carriage with +unliveried coachman and outriders. No word was spoken till they entered +the carriage and were driven swiftly away. + +"Whither now, your Highness?" asked Philip. + +"To the duchy," answered the other shortly, and relapsed into sombre +meditation. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +The castle of the Prince d'Avranche, Duc de Bercy, was set upon a vast +rock, and the town of Bercy huddled round the foot of it and on great +granite ledges some distance up. With fifty defenders the castle, on its +lofty pedestal, might have resisted as many thousands; and, indeed, it +had done so more times than there were rubies in the rings of the present +Duke, who had rescued Captain Philip d'Avranche from the clutches of the +Red Government. + +Upon the castle, with the flag of the duchy, waved the republican +tricolour, where for a thousand years had floated a royal banner. When +France's great trouble came to her, and the nobles fled, or went to fight +for the King in the Vendee, the old Duke, with a dreamy indifference to +the opinion of Europe, had proclaimed alliance with the new Government. +He felt himself privileged in being thus selfish; and he had made the +alliance that he might pursue, unchecked, the one remaining object of his +life. + +This object had now grown from a habit into a passion. It was now his +one ambition to arrange a new succession excluding the Vaufontaines, a +detested branch of the Bercy family. There had been an ancient feud +between his family and the Vaufontaines, whose rights to the succession, +after his eldest son, were to this time paramount. For three years past +he had had a whole monastery of Benedictine monks at work to find some +collateral branch from which he might take a successor to Leopold John, +his imbecile heir--but to no purpose. + +In more than a little the Duke was superstitious, and on the day when he +met Philip d'Avranche in the chamber of M. Dalbarade he had twice turned +back after starting to make the visit, so great was his dislike to pay +homage to the revolutionary Minister. He had nerved himself to the +distasteful duty, however, and had gone. When he saw the name of the +young English prisoner--his own name--staring him in the face, he had +had such a thrill as a miracle might have sent through the veins of a +doubting Christian. + +Since that minute he, like Philip, had been in a kind of dream; on his +part, to find in the young man, if possible, an heir and successor; on +Philip's to make real exalted possibilities. There had slipped past two +months, wherein Philip had seen a new and brilliant avenue of life +opening out before him. Most like a dream indeed it seemed. He had been +shut out from the world, cut off from all connection with England and his +past, for M. Dalbarade made it a condition of release that he should send +no message or correspond with any one outside Castle Bercy. He had not +therefore written to Guida. She seemed an interminable distance away. +He was as completely in a new world as though he had been transplanted; +he was as wholly in the air of fresh ambitions as though he were +beginning the world again--ambitions as gorgeous as bewildering. + +For, almost from the first, the old nobleman treated him like a son. +He spoke freely to him of the most private family matters, of the most +important State affairs. He consulted with him, he seemed to lean upon +him. He alluded often, in oblique phrase, to adoption and succession. +In the castle Philip was treated as though he were in truth a high +kinsman of the Duke. Royal ceremony and state were on every hand. He +who had never had a servant of his own, now had a score at his disposal. +He had spent his early days in a small Jersey manor-house; here he was +walking the halls of a palace with the step of assurance, the most +honoured figure in a principality next to the sovereign himself. +"Adoption and succession" were words that rang in his ears day and night. +The wild dream had laid feverish hands upon him. Jersey, England, the +Navy, seemed very far away. + +Ambition was the deepest passion in him, even as defeating the hopes of +the Vaufontaines was more than a religion with the Duke. By no trickery, +but by a persistent good-nature, alertness of speech, avoidance of +dangerous topics, and aptness in anecdote, he had hourly made his +position stronger, himself more honoured at the Castle Bercy. He had +also tactfully declined an offer of money from the Prince--none the less +decidedly because he was nearly penniless. The Duke's hospitality he was +ready to accept, but not his purse--not yet. + +Yet he was not in all acting a part. He was sincere in his liking for +the soured, bereaved sovereign, forced to endure alliance with a +Government he loathed. He even admired the Duke for his vexing +idiosyncrasies, for they came of a strong individuality which, in happier +case, should have made him a contented and beloved monarch. As it was, +the people of his duchy were loyal to him beyond telling, doing his +bidding without cavil: standing for the King of France at his will, +declaring for the Republic at his command; for, whatever the Duke was +to the world outside, within his duchy he was just and benevolent, if +imperious. + +All these things Philip had come to know in his short sojourn. He had, +with the Duke, mingled freely, yet with great natural dignity, among the +people of the duchy, and was introduced everywhere, and at all times, as +the sovereign's kinsman--"in a direct line from an ancient branch," as +his Highness declared. He had been received gladly, and had made himself +an agreeable figure in the duchy, to the delight of the Duke, who watched +his every motion, every word, and their effect. He came to know the +gossip gone abroad that the Duke had already chosen him for heir. A +fantastic rumour, maybe, yet who could tell? + +One day the Duke arranged a conference of the civil and military officers +of his duchy. He chuckled to see how reluctant they all were at first to +concede their homage to his favourite, and how soon they fell under that +favourite's influence--all save one man, the Intendant of the duchy. +Philip himself was quick to see that this man, Count Carignan Damour, +apprehensive for his own selfish ends, was bitterly opposed to him. +But Damour was one among many, and the Duke was entirely satisfied, +for the common people received Philip with applause. + +On this very day was laid before the Duke the result of the long +researches of the monks into the genealogy of the d'Avranches, and there, +clearly enough, was confirmation of all Philip had said about his +ancestors and their relation to the ancient house of d'Avranche. The +Duke was overjoyed, and thereupon secretly made ready for Philip's formal +adoption and succession. It never occurred to him that Philip might +refuse. + +On the same afternoon he sent for Philip to come to him in the highest +room of the great tower. It was in this room that, many years ago, the +Duke's young and noble wife, from the province of Aquitaine, had given +birth to the second son of the house of Bercy, and had died a year later, +happy that she should at last leave behind a healthy, beautiful child, to +do her honour in her lord's eyes. + +In this same room the Duke and the brave second son had spent unnumbered +hours; and here it had come home to him that the young wife was faultless +as to the elder, else she had not borne him this perfect younger son. +Thus her memory came to be adored; and thus, when the noble second son, +the glory of his house and of his heart, was killed in Macedonia, +the Duke still came to the little upper room for his communion of +remembrance. Hour after hour he would sit looking from the great window +out over the wide green valley, mourning bitterly, and feeling his heart +shrivel up within him, his body grow crabbed and cold, and his face sour +and scornful. + +When Philip now entered this sanctuary, the Duke nodded and motioned him +to a chair. In silence he accepted, and in silence they sat for a time. +Philip knew the history of this little room--he had learned it first from +Frange Pergot, the porter at the castle gates with whom he had made +friends. The silence gave him opportunity to recall the whole story. + +At length the motionless brown figure huddled in the great chair, not +looking at Philip but out over the wide green valley, began to speak in +a low, measured tone, as a dreamer might tell his dream, or a priest his +vision: + +"A breath of life has come again to me through you. Centuries ago our +ancestors were brothers--far back in the direct line, brothers--the monks +have proved it. + +"Now I shall have my spite of the Vaufoutaines, and now shall I have +another son--strong, and with good blood in him to beget good blood." + +A strange, lean sort of smile passed over his lips, his eyebrows +twitched, his hands clinched the arm of the chair wherein he sat, +and he made a motion of his jaws as though enjoying a toothsome morsel. + +"H'm, Henri Vaufontaine shall see--and all his tribe! They shall not +feed upon these lands of the d'Avranches, they shall not carouse at my +table when I am gone and the fool I begot has returned to his Maker. The +fault of him was never mine, but God's--does the Almighty think we can +forget that? I was ever sound and strong. When I was twenty I killed +two men with my own sword at a blow; when I was thirty, to serve the King +I rode a hundred and forty miles in one day--from Paris to Dracourt it +was. We d'Avranches have been men of power always. We fought for +Christ's sepulchre in the Holy Land, and three bishops and two +archbishops have gone from us to speak God's cause to the world. And my +wife, she came of the purest stock of Aquitaine, and she was constant, in +her prayers. What discourtesy was it then, for God, who hath been served +well by us, to serve me in return with such mockery: to send me a +bloodless zany, whom his wife left ere the wedding meats were cold." + +His foot tapped the floor in anger, his eyes wandered restlessly out over +the green expanse. Suddenly a dove perched upon the window-sill before +him. His quick, shifting gaze settled on it and stayed, softening and +quieting. + +After a slight pause, he turned to Philip and spoke in a still lower +tone. "Last night in the chapel I spake to God and I said: 'Lord God, +let there be fair speech between us. Wherefore hast Thou nailed me like +a malefactor to the tree? Why didst Thou send me a fool to lead our +house, and afterwards a lad as fine and strong as Absalom, and then lay +him low like a wisp of corn in the wind, leaving me wifeless--with a +prince to follow me, the by-word of men, the scorn of women--and of the +Vaufontaines?"' + +He paused again, and his eyes seemed to pierce Philip's, as though he +would read if each word was burning its way into his brain. + +"As I stood there alone, a voice spoke to me as plainly as now I speak to +you, and it said: 'Have done with railing. That which was the elder's +shall be given to the younger. The tree hath grown crabbed and old, it +beareth no longer. Behold the young sapling by thy door--I have planted +it there. The seed is the seed of the old tree. Cherish it, lest +a grafted tree flourish in thy house.'" . . . . His words rose +triumphantly. "Yes, yes, I heard it with my own ears, the Voice. The +crabbed tree, that is the main line, dying in me; the grafted tree is the +Vaufontaine, the interloper and the mongrel; and the sapling from the +same seed as the crabbed old tree"--he reached out as though to clutch +Philip's arm, but drew back, sat erect in his chair, and said with +ringing decision: "the sapling is Philip d'Avranche, of the Jersey Isle." + +For a moment there was silence between the two. A strong wind came +rushing up the valley through the clear sunlight, the great trees beneath +the castle swayed, and the flapping of the tricolour could be heard +within. From the window-sill the dove, caught up on the wave of wind, +sailed away down the widening glade. + +Philip's first motion was to stand up and say: "I dare not think your +Highness means in very truth to make me your kinsman in the succession." + +"And why not, why not?" testily answered the Duke, who liked not to +be imperfectly apprehended. Then he added more kindly: "Why not--come, +tell me that, cousin? Is it then distasteful?" + +Philip's heart gave a leap and his face flushed. "I have no other +kinsman," he answered in a low tone of feeling. "I knew I had your +august friendship--else all the tokens of your goodness to me were +mockery; but I had scarce let myself count on the higher, more intimate +honour--I, a poor captain in the English navy." + +He said the last words slowly, for, whatever else he was, he was a loyal +English sailor, and he wished the Duc de Bercy to know it, the more +convincingly the better for the part he was going to play in this duchy, +if all things favoured. + +"Tut, tut, what has that to do with it?" answered the Duke. "What has +poverty to do with blood? Younger sons are always poor, younger cousins +poorer. As for the captaincy of an English warship, that's of no +consequence where greater games are playing--eh?" + +He eyed Philip keenly, yet too there was an unasked question in his look. +He was a critic of human nature, he understood the code of honour, none +better; his was a mind that might be wilfully but never crassly blind. +He was selfish where this young gentleman was concerned, yet he knew well +how the same gentleman ought to think, speak, and act. + +The moment of the great test was come. + +Philip could not read behind the strange, shrivelled face. Instinct +could help him much, but it could not interpret that parchment. He did +not know whether his intended reply would alienate the Duke or not, but +if it did, then he must bear it. He had come, as he thought, to the crux +of this adventure. All in a moment he was recalled again to his real +position. The practical facts of his life possessed him. He was +standing between a garish dream and commonplace realities. Old feelings +came back--the old life. The ingrain loyalty of all his years was his +again. Whatever he might be, he was still an English officer, and he was +not the man to break the code of professional honour lightly. If the +Duke's favour and adoption must depend on the answer he must now give, +well, let it be; his last state could not be worse than his first. + +So, still standing, he answered the Duke boldly, yet quietly, his new +kinsman watching him with a grim curiosity. + +"Monsieur le prince," said Philip, "I am used to poverty, that matters +little; but whatever you intend towards me--and I am persuaded it is to +my great honour and happiness--I am, and must still remain, an officer of +the English navy." + +The Duke's brow contracted, and his answer came cold and incisive: "The +navy--that is a bagatelle; I had hoped to offer you heritage. Pooh, +pooh, commanding a frigate is a trade--a mere trade!" + +Philip's face did not stir a muscle. He was in spirit the born +adventurer, the gamester who could play for life's largest stakes, +lose all, draw a long breath--and begin the world again. + +"It's a busy time in my trade now, as Monsieur Dalbarade would tell you, +Duke." + +The Duke's lips compressed as though in anger. "You mean to say, +monsieur, that you would let this wretched war between France and England +stand before our own kinship and alliance? What are you and I in this +great shuffle of events? Have less egotism, less vanity, monsieur. You +are no more than a million others--and I--I am nothing. Come, come, +there is more than one duty in the life of every man, and sometime he +must choose between one and the other. England does not need you"--his +voice and manner softened, he leaned towards Philip, the eyes almost +closing as he peered into his face--"but you are needed by the House of +Bercy." + +"I was commissioned to a warship in time of war," answered Philip +quietly, "and I lost that warship. When I can, it is my duty to go back +to the powers that sent me forth. I am still an officer in full +commission. Your Highness knows well what honour claims of me." + +"There are hundreds of officers to take your place; in the duchy of Bercy +there is none to stand for you. You must choose between your trade and +the claims of name and blood, older than the English navy, older than +Norman England." + +Philip's colour was as good, his manner as easy as if nothing were at +stake; but in his heart he felt that the game was lost--he saw a storm +gathering in the Duke's eyes, the disappointment presently to break out +into wrath, the injured vanity to burst into snarling disdain. But he +spoke boldly nevertheless, for he was resolved that, even if he had to +return from this duchy to prison, he would go with colours flying. + +"The proudest moment of my life was when the Duc de Bercy called me +kinsman," he responded; "the best" (had he then so utterly forgotten the +little church of St. Michael's?) "was when he showed me friendship. Yet, +if my trade may not be reconciled with what he may intend for me, I must +ask to be sent back to Monsieur Dalbarade." He smiled hopelessly, yet +with stoical disregard of consequences, and went on: "For my trade is +in full swing these days, and I stand my chance of being exchanged and +earning my daily bread again. At the Admiralty I am a master workman on +full pay, but I'm not earning my salt here. With Monsieur Dalbarade my +conscience would be easier." + +He had played his last card. Now he was prepared for the fury of a +jaundiced, self-willed old man, who could ill brook being thwarted. He +had quickly imagined it all, and not without reason, for surely a furious +disdain was at the grey lips, lines of anger were corrugating the +forehead, the rugose parchment face was fiery with distemper. + +But what Philip expected did not come to pass. Rising quickly to his +feet, the Duke took him by the shoulders, kissed him on both cheeks, and +said: + +"My mind is made up--is made up. Nothing can change it. You have no +father, cousin--well, I will be your father. You shall retain your post +in the English navy-officer and patriot you shall be if you choose. A +brave man makes a better ruler. But now there is much to do. There is +the concurrence of the English King to secure; that shall be--has already +been--my business. There is the assent of Leopold John to achieve; that +I shall command. There are the grave formalities of adoption to arrange; +these I shall expedite. You shall see, Master Insolence--you, who'd +throw me and my duchy over for your trade; you shall see how the +Vaufontaines will gnash their teeth!" + +In his heart Philip was exultant, though outwardly he was calm. He was, +however, unprepared for what followed. Suddenly the Duke, putting a hand +on his shoulder, said: + +"One thing, cousin, one thing: you must marry in our order, and at once. +There shall be no delay. Succession must be made sure. I know the very +woman--the Comtesse Chantavoine--young, rich, amiable. You shall meet +her to-morrow-to-morrow." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +"The Comtesse Chantavoine, young, rich, amiable. You shall meet her +to-morrow " . . . !--Long after Philip left the Duke to go to his own +chamber, these words rang in his ears. He suddenly felt the cords of +fate tightening round him. So real was the momentary illusion that, as +he passed through the great hall where hung the portraits of the Duke's +ancestors, he made a sudden outward motion of his arms as though to free +himself from a physical restraint. Strange to say, he had never foreseen +or reckoned with this matter of marriage in the designs of the Duke. He +had forgotten that sovereign dukes must make sure their succession even +unto the third and fourth generation. His first impulse had been to tell +the Duke that to introduce him to the Countess would be futile, for he +was already married. But the instant warning of the mind that his +Highness could never and would never accept the daughter of a Jersey +ship-builder restrained him. He had no idea that Guida's descent from +the noble de Mauprats of Chambery would weigh with the Duke, who would +only see in her some apple-cheeked peasant stumbling over her court +train. + +It was curious that the Duke had never even hinted at the chance of his +being already married--yet not so curious either, since complete silence +concerning a wife was in itself declaration enough that he was unmarried. +He felt in his heart that a finer sense would have offered Guida no such +humiliation, for he knew the lie of silence to be as evil as the lie of +speech. + +He had not spoken, partly because he had not yet become used to the fact +that he really was married. It had never been brought home to him by +the ever-present conviction of habit. One day of married life, or, in +reality, a few hours of married life, with Guida had given the sensation +more of a noble adventure than of a lasting condition. With distance +from that noble adventure, something of the glow of a lover's relations +had gone, and the subsequent tender enthusiasm of mind and memory was not +vivid enough to make him daring or--as he would have said--reckless for +its sake. Yet this same tender enthusiasm was sincere enough to make him +accept the fact of his marriage without discontent, even in the glamour +of new and alluring ambitions. + +If it had been a question of giving up Guida or giving up the duchy of +Bercy--if that had been put before him as the sole alternative, he would +have decided as quickly in Guida's favour as he did when he thought it +was a question between the duchy and the navy. The straightforward +issue of Guida or the duchy he had not been called upon to face. But, +unfortunately for those who are tempted, issues are never put quite so +plainly by the heralds of destiny and penalty. They are disguised as +delectable chances: the toss-up is always the temptation of life. The +man who uses trust-money for three days, to acquire in those three days +a fortune, certain as magnificent, would pull up short beforehand if the +issue of theft or honesty were put squarely before him. Morally he means +no theft; he uses his neighbour's saw until his own is mended: but he +breaks his neighbour's saw, his own is lost on its homeward way; and +having no money to buy another, he is tried and convicted on a charge of +theft. Thus the custom of society establishes the charge of immorality +upon the technical defect. But not on that alone; upon the principle +that what is committed in trust shall be held inviolate, with an exact +obedience to the spirit as to the letter of the law. + +The issue did not come squarely to Philip. He had not openly lied about +Guida: so far he had had no intention of doing so. He even figured to +himself with what surprise Guida would greet his announcement that she +was henceforth Princesse Guida d'Avranche, and in due time would be her +serene highness the Duchesse de Bercy. Certainly there was nothing +immoral in his ambitions. If the reigning Prince chose to establish +him as heir, who had a right to complain? + +Then, as to an officer of the English navy accepting succession in a +sovereign duchy in suzerainty to the present Government of France, while +England was at war with her, the Duke had more than once, in almost so +many words, defined the situation. Because the Duke himself, with no +successor assured, was powerless to side with the Royalists against the +Red Government, he was at the moment obliged, for the very existence of +his duchy, to hoist the tricolour upon the castle with his own flag. +Once the succession was secure beyond the imbecile Leopold John, then he +would certainly declare against the present fiendish Government and for +the overthrown dynasty. + +Now England was fighting France, not only because she was revolutionary +France, but because of the murder of Louis XVI and for the restoration of +the overthrown dynasty. Also she was in close sympathy with the war of +the Vendee, to which she would lend all possible assistance. Philip +argued that if it was his duty, as a captain in the English navy, to +fight against the revolutionaries from without, he would be beyond +criticism if, as the Duc de Bercy, he also fought against them from +within. + +Indeed, it was with this plain statement of the facts that the second +military officer of the duchy had some days before been sent to the Court +of St. James to secure its intervention for Philip's freedom by exchange +of prisoners. This officer was also charged with securing the consent of +the English King for Philip's acceptance of succession in the duchy, +while retaining his position in the English navy. The envoy had been +instructed by the Duke to offer his sympathy with England in the war and +his secret adherence to the Royalist cause, to become open so soon as the +succession through Philip was secured. + +To Philip's mind all that side of the case was in his favour, and sorted +well with his principles of professional honour. His mind was not so +acutely occupied with his private honour. To tell the Duke now of his +marriage would be to load the dice against himself: he felt that the +opportunity for speaking of it had passed. + +He seated himself at a table and took from his pocket a letter of Guida's +written many weeks before, in which she had said firmly that she had not +announced the marriage, and would not; that he must do it, and he alone; +that the letter written to her grandfather had not been received by him, +and that no one in Jersey knew their secret. + +In reading this letter again a wave of feeling rushed over him. He +realised the force and strength of her nature: every word had a clear, +sharp straightforwardness and the ring of truth. + +A crisis was near, and he must prepare to meet it. + +The Duke had said that he must marry; a woman had already been chosen for +him, and he was to meet her to-morrow. But, as he said to himself, that +meant nothing. To meet a woman was not of necessity to marry her. + +Marry--he could feel his flesh creeping! It gave him an ugly, startled +sensation. It was like some imp of Satan to drop into his ear the +suggestion that princes, ere this, had been known to have two wives-- +one of them unofficial. He could have struck himself in the face for the +iniquity of the suggestion; he flushed from the indecency of it; but so +have sinners ever flushed as they set forth on the garish road to +Avernus. Yet--yet somehow he must carry on the farce of being single +until the adoption and the succession had been formally arranged. + +Vexed with these unbidden and unwelcome thoughts, he got up and walked +about his chamber restlessly. "Guida--poor Guida!" he said to himself +many times. He was angry, disgusted that those shameful, irresponsible +thoughts should have come to him. He would atone for all that--and more +--when he was Prince and she Princess d'Avranche. But, nevertheless, +he was ill at ease with himself. Guida was off there alone in Jersey-- +alone. Now, all at once, another possibility flashed into his mind. +Suppose, why, suppose--thoughtless scoundrel that he had been--suppose +that there might come another than himself and Guida to bear his name! +And she there alone, her marriage still kept secret--the danger of it to +her good name. But she had said nothing in her letters, hinted nothing. +No, in none had there been the most distant suggestion. Then and there +he got them, one and all, and read every word, every line, all through to +the end. No; there was not one hint. Of course it could not be so; she +would have--but no, she might not have! Guida was unlike anybody else. + +He read on and on again. And now, somehow, he thought he caught in one +of the letters a new ring, a pensive gravity, a deeper tension, which +were like ciphers or signals to tell him of some change in her. For a +moment he was shaken. Manhood, human sympathy, surged up in him. The +flush of a new sensation ran through his veins like fire. The first +instinct of fatherhood came to him, a thrilling, uplifting feeling. But +as suddenly there shot through his mind a thought which brought him to +his feet with a spring. + +But suppose--suppose that it was so--suppose that through Guida the +further succession might presently be made sure, and suppose he went to +the Prince and told him all; that might win his favour for her; and the +rest would be easy. That was it, as clear as day. Meanwhile he would +hold his peace, and abide the propitious hour. + +For, above all else--and this was the thing that clinched the purpose in +his mind--above all else, the Duke had, at best, but a brief time to +live. Only a week ago the Court physician had told him that any violence +or mental shock might snap the thread of existence. Clearly, the thing +was to go on as before, keep his marriage secret, meet the Countess, +apparently accede to all the Duke proposed, and wait--and wait. + +With this clear purpose in his mind colouring all that he might say, +yet crippling the freedom of his thought, he sat down to write to Guida. +He had not yet written to her, according to his parole: this issue was +clear; he could not send a letter to Guida until he was freed from that +condition. It had been a bitter pill to swallow; and many times he had +had to struggle with himself since his arrival at the castle. For +whatever the new ambitions and undertakings, there was still a woman +in the lonely distance for whose welfare he was responsible, for whose +happiness he had yet done nothing, unless to give her his name under +sombre conditions was happiness for her. All that he had done to remind +him of the wedded life he had so hurriedly, so daringly, so eloquently +entered upon, was to send his young wife fifty pounds. Somehow, as this +fact flashed to his remembrance now, it made him shrink; it had a certain +cold, commercial look which struck him unpleasantly. Perhaps, indeed, +the singular and painful shyness--chill almost--with which Guida had +received the fifty pounds now communicated itself to him by the +intangible telegraphy of the mind and spirit. + +All at once that bare, glacial fact of having sent her fifty pounds acted +as an ironical illumination of his real position. He felt conscious that +Guida would have preferred some simple gift, some little thing that women +love, in token and remembrance, rather than this contribution to the +common needs of existence. Now that he came to think of it, since he had +left her in Jersey, he had never sent her ever so small a gift. He had +never given her any gifts at all save the Maltese cross in her childhood +--and her wedding-ring. As for the ring, it had never occurred to him +that she could not wear it save in the stillness of the night, unseen by +any eye save her own. He could not know that she had been wont to go to +sleep with the hand clasped to her breast, pressing close to her the one +outward token she had of a new life, begun with a sweetness which was +very bitter and a bitterness only a little sweet. + +Philip was in no fitting mood to write a letter. Too many emotions were +in conflict in him at once. They were having their way with him; and, +perhaps, in this very complexity of his feelings he came nearer to being +really and acutely himself than he had ever been in his life. Indeed, +there was a moment when he was almost ready to consign the Duke and all +that appertained to the devil or the deep sea, and to take his fate as it +came. But one of the other selves of him calling down from the little +attic where dark things brood, told him that to throw up his present +chances would bring him no nearer and no sooner to Guida, and must +return him to the prison whence he came. + +Yet he would write to Guida now, and send the letter when he was released +from parole. His courage grew as the sentences spread out before him; he +became eloquent. He told her how heavily the days and months went on +apart from her. He emptied out the sensations of absence, loneliness, +desire, and affection. All at once he stopped short. It flashed upon +him now that always his letters had been entirely of his own doings; he +had pictured himself always: his own loneliness, his own grief at +separation. He had never yet spoken of the details of her life, +questioned her of this and of that, of all the little things which fill +the life of a woman--not because she loves them, but because she is a +woman, and the knowledge and governance of little things is the habit of +her life. His past egotism was borne in upon him now. He would try to +atone for it. Now he asked her many questions in his letter. But one +he did not ask. He knew not how to speak to her of it. The fact that he +could not was a powerful indictment of his relations towards her, of his +treatment of her, of his headlong courtship and marriage. + +So portions of this letter of his had not the perfect ring of truth, not +the conviction which unselfish love alone can beget. It was only at the +last, only when he came to a close, that the words went from him with the +sharp photography of his own heart. It came, perhaps, from a remorse +which, for the instant, foreshadowed danger ahead; from an acute pity for +her; or perchance from a longing to forego the attempt upon an exalted +place, and get back to the straightforward hours, such as those upon the +Ecrehos, when he knew that he loved her. But the sharpness of his +feelings rendered more intense now the declaration of his love. The +phrases were wrung from him. "Good-bye--no, a la bonne heure, my +dearest," he wrote. "Good days are coming--brave, great days, when I +shall be free to strike another blow for England, both from within and +from without France; when I shall be, if all go well, the Prince +d'Avranche, Duc de Bercy, and you my perfect Princess. Good-bye! Thy +Philip, qui t'aime toujours." + +He had hardly written the last words when there came a knocking at his +door, and a servant entered. "His Highness offers his compliments to +monsieur, and will monsieur descend to meet the Marquis Grandjon-Larisse +and the Comtesse Chantavoine, who have just arrived." + +For an instant Philip could scarce compose himself, but he sent a message +of obedience to the Duke's command, and prepared to go down. + +So it was come--not to-morrow, but to-day. Already the deep game was on. +With a sigh which was half bitter and mocking laughter, he seized the +pouncebox, dried his letter to Guida, and put it in his pocket. As he +descended the staircase, the last words of it kept assailing his mind, +singing in his brain: "Thy Philip, qui t'aime toujours!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +Not many evenings after Philip's first interview with the Comtesse +Chantavoine, a visitor arrived at the castle. From his roundabout +approach up the steep cliff in the dusk it was clear he wished to avoid +notice. Of gallant bearing, he was attired in a fashion unlike the +citizens of Bercy, or the Republican military often to be seen in the +streets of the town. The whole relief of the costume was white: white +sash, white cuffs turned back, white collar, white rosette and band, +white and red bandeau, and the faint glitter of a white shirt. In +contrast were the black hat and plume, black top boots with huge spurs, +and yellow breeches. He carried a gun and a sword, and a pistol was +stuck in the white sash. But one thing caught the eye more than all +else: a white square on the breast of the long brown coat, strangely +ornamented with a red heart and a cross. He was evidently a soldier of +high rank, but not of the army of the Republic. + +The face was that of a devotee, not of peace but of war--of some forlorn +crusade. It had deep enthusiasm, which yet to the trained observer would +seem rather the tireless faith of a convert than the disposition of the +natural man. It was somewhat heavily lined for one so young, and the +marks of a hard life were on him, but distinction and energy were in his +look and in every turn of his body. + +Arriving at the castle, he knocked at the postern. At first sight of him +the porter suspiciously blocked the entrance with his person, but seeing +the badge upon his breast, stood at gaze, and a look of keen curiosity +crossed over his face. On the visitor announcing himself as a +Vaufontaine, this curiosity gave place to as keen surprise; he was +admitted with every mark of respect, and the gates closed behind him. + +"Has his Highness any visitors?" he asked as he dismounted. + +The porter nodded assent. + +"Who are they?" He slipped a coin into the porter's hand. + +"One of the family--for so his Serene Highness calls him." + +"H'm, indeed! A Vaufontaine, friend?" + +"No, monsieur, a d'Avranche." + +"What d'Avranche? Not Prince Leopold John?" + +"No, monsieur, the name is the same as his Highness's." + +"Philip d'Avranche? Ah, from whence?" + +"From Paris, monsieur, with his Highness." + +The visitor, whistling softly to himself, stood thinking a moment. + +Presently he said: + +"How old is he?" + +"About the same age as monsieur." + +"How does he occupy himself?" + +"He walks, rides, talks with his Highness, asks questions of the people, +reads in the library, and sometimes shoots and fishes." + +"Is he a soldier?" + +"He carries no sword, and he takes long aim with a gun." + +A sly smile was lurking about the porter's mouth. The visitor drew from +his pocket a second gold piece, and, slipping it into the other's hand, +said: + +"Tell it all at once. Who is the gentleman, and what is his business +here? Is he, perhaps, on the side of the Revolution, or does he--keep +better company?" + +He looked keenly into the eyes of the porter, who screwed up his own, +returning the gaze unflinchingly. Handing back the gold piece, the man +answered firmly: + +"I have told monsieur what every one in the duchy knows; there's no +charge for that. For what more his Highness and--and those in his +Highness's confidence know," he drew himself up with brusque importance, +"there's no price, monsieur." + +"Body o' me, here's pride and vainglory!" answered the other. "But I +know you, my fine Pergot, I knew you almost too well years ago; and then +you were not so sensitive; then you were a good Royalist like me, +Pergot." + +This time he fastened the man's look with his own and held it until +Pergot dropped his head before it. + +"I don't remember monsieur," he answered, perturbed. + +"Of course not. The fine Pergot has a bad memory, like a good +Republican, who by law cannot worship his God, or make the sign of the +Cross, or, ask the priest to visit him when he's dying. A red +Revolutionist is our Pergot now!" + +"I'm as good a Royalist as monsieur," retorted the man with some +asperity. "So are most of us. Only--only his Highness says to us--" + +"Don't gossip of what his Highness says, but do his bidding, Pergot. +What a fool are you to babble thus! How d'ye know but I'm one of +Fouche's or Barere's men? How d'ye know but there are five hundred men +beyond waiting for my whistle?" + +The man changed instantly. His hand was at his side like lightning. +"They'd never hear that whistle, monsieur, though you be Vaufontaine or +no Vaufontaine!" + +The other, smiling, reached out and touched him on the shoulder kindly. + +"My dear Frange Pergot," said he, "that's the man I knew once, and the +sort of man that's been fighting with me for the Church and for the King +these months past in the Vendee. Come, come, don't you know me, Pergot? +Don't you remember the scapegrace with whom, for a jape, you waylaid my +uncle the Cardinal and robbed him, then sold him back his jewelled watch +for a year's indulgences?" + +"But no, no," answered the man, crossing himself quickly, and by the dim +lanthorn light peering into the visitor's face, "it is not possible, +monsieur. The Comte Detricand de Tournay--God rest him!--died in the +Jersey Isle, with him they called Rullecour." + +"Well, well, you might at least remember this," rejoined the other, and +with a smile he showed an old scar in the palm of his hand. + +A little later was ushered into the library of the castle the Comte +Detricand de Tournay, who, under the name of Savary dit Detricand, had +lived in the Isle of Jersey for many years. There he had been a +dissipated idler, a keeper of worthless company, an alien coolly +accepting the hospitality of a country he had ruthlessly invaded as a +boy. Now, returned from vagabondage, he was the valiant and honoured +heir of the House of Vaufontaine, and heir-presumptive of the House of +Bercy. + +True to his intention, Detricand had joined de la Rochejaquelein, the +intrepid, inspired leader of the Vendee, whose sentiments became his own +--"If I advance, follow me; if I retreat, kill me; if I fall, avenge me." + +He had proven himself daring, courageous, resourceful. His unvarying +gaiety of spirits infected the simple peasants with a rebounding energy; +his fearlessness inspired their confidence; his kindness to the wounded, +friend or foe, his mercy to prisoners, the respect he showed devoted +priests who shared with the peasants the perils of war, made him beloved. + +From the first all the leaders trusted him, and he sprang in a day, as +had done the peasants Cathelineau, d'Elbee, and Stofflet, or gentlemen +like Lescure and Bonchamp, and noble fighters like d'Antichamp and the +Prince of Talmont, to an outstanding position in the Royalist army. +Again and again he had been engaged in perilous sorties and leading +forlorn hopes. He had now come from the splendid victory at Saumur to +urge his kinsman, the Duc de Bercy, to join the Royalists. + +He had powerful arguments to lay before a nobleman the whole traditions +of whose house were of constant alliance with the Crown of France, whose +very duchy had been the gift of a French monarch. Detricand had not seen +the Duke since he was a lad at Versailles, and there would be much in his +favour, for of all the Vaufontaines the Duke had reason to dislike him +least, and some winning power in him had of late grown deep and +penetrating. + +When the Duke entered upon him in the library, he was under the immediate +influence of a stimulating talk with Philip d'Avranche and the chief +officers of the duchy. With the memory of past feuds and hatreds in his +mind, and predisposed against any Vaufontaine, his greeting was +courteously disdainful, his manner preoccupied. + +Remarking that he had but lately heard of monsieur le comte's return to +France, he hoped he had enjoyed his career in--was it then England or +America? But yes, he remembered, it began with an expedition to take the +Channel Isles from England, an insolent, a criminal business in time of +peace, fit only for boys or buccaneers. Had monsieur le comte then spent +all these years in the Channel Isles--a prisoner perhaps? No? Fastening +his eyes cynically on the symbol of the Royalist cause on Detricand's +breast, he asked to what he was indebted for the honour of this present +visit. Perhaps, he added drily, it was to inquire after his own health, +which, he was glad to assure monsieur le comte and all his cousins of +Vaufontaine, was never better. + +The face was like a leather mask, telling nothing of the arid sarcasm in +the voice. The shoulders were shrunken, the temples fallen in, the neck +behind was pinched, and the eyes looked out like brown beads alive with +fire, and touched with the excitement of monomania. His last word had a +delicate savagery of irony, though, too, there could be heard in the tone +a defiance, arguing apprehension, not lost upon his visitor. + +Detricand had inwardly smiled during the old man's monologue, broken only +by courteous, half-articulate interjections on his own part. He knew too +well the old feud between their houses, the ambition that had possessed +many a Vaufontaine to inherit the dukedom of Bercy, and the Duke's futile +revolt against that possibility. But for himself, now heir to the +principality of Vaufontaine, and therefrom, by reversion, to that of +Bercy, it had no importance. + +He had but one passion now, and it burned clear and strong, it dominated, +it possessed him. He would have given up any worldly honour to see it +succeed. He had idled and misspent too many years, been vaurien and +ne'er-do-well too long to be sordid now. Even as the grievous sinner, +come from dark ways, turns with furious and tireless strength to piety +and good works, so this vagabond of noble family, wheeling suddenly in +his tracks, had thrown himself into a cause which was all sacrifice, +courage, and unselfish patriotism--a holy warfare. The last bitter +thrust of the Duke had touched no raw flesh, his withers were unwrung. +Gifted to thrust in return, and with warrant to do so, he put aside the +temptation, and answered his kinsman with daylight clearness. + +"Monsieur le duc," said he, "I am glad your health is good--it better +suits the purpose of this interview. I am come on business, and on that +alone. I am from Saumur, where I left de la Rochejaquelein, Stofflet, +Cathelineau, and Lescure masters of the city and victors over Coustard's +army. We have taken eleven thousand prisoners, and--" + +"I have heard a rumour--" interjected the Duke impatiently. + +"I will give you fact," continued Detricand, and he told of the series of +successes lately come to the army of the Vendee. It was the heyday of +the cause. + +"And how does all this concern me?" asked the Duke. + +"I am come to beg you to join us, to declare for our cause, for the +Church and for the King. Yours is of the noblest names in France. Will +you not stand openly for what you cannot waver from in your heart? If +the Duc de Bercy declares for us, others will come out of exile, and from +submission to the rebel government, to our aid. My mission is to beg you +to put aside whatever reasons you may have had for alliance with this +savage government, and proclaim for the King." + +The Duke never took his eyes from Detricand's. + +What was going on behind that parchment face, who might say? + +"Are you aware," he answered Detricand at last, "that I could send you +straight from here to the guillotine?" + +"So could the porter at your gates, but he loves France almost as well +as does the Duc de Bercy." + +"You take refuge in the fact that you are my kinsman," returned the Duke +acidly. + +"The honour is stimulating, but I should not seek salvation by it. I +have the greater safety of being your guest," answered Detricand with +dignity. + +"Too premature a sanctuary for a Vaufontaine!" retorted the Duke, +fighting down growing admiration for a kinsman whose family he would +gladly root out, if it lay in his power. + +Detricand made a gesture of impatience, for he felt that his appeal had +availed nothing, and he had no heart for a battle of words. His wit had +been tempered in many fires, his nature was non-incandescent to praise or +gibe. He had had his share of pastime; now had come his share of toil, +and the mood for give and take of words was not on him. + +He went straight to the point now. Hopelessly he spoke the plain truth. + +"I want nothing of the Prince d'Avranche but his weight and power in a +cause for which the best gentlemen of France are giving their lives. I +fasten my eyes on France alone: I fight for the throne of Louis, not for +the duchy of Bercy. The duchy of Bercy may sink or swim for all of me, +if so be it does not stand with us in our holy war." + +The Duke interjected a disdainful laugh. Suddenly there shot into +Detricand's mind a suggestion, which, wild as it was, might after all +belong to the grotesque realities of life. So he added with +deliberation: + +"If alliance must still be kept with this evil government of France, +then be sure there is no Vaufontaine who would care to inherit a duchy so +discredited. To meet that peril the Duc de Bercy will do well to consult +his new kinsman--Philip d'Avranche." + +For a moment there was absolute silence in the room. The old nobleman's +look was like a flash of flame in a mask of dead flesh. The short upper +lip was arrested in a sort of snarl, the fingers, half-closed, were +hooked like talons, and the whole man was a picture of surprise, fury, +and injured pride. The Duc de Bercy to be harangued to his duty, +scathed, measured, disapproved, and counselled, by a stripling +Vaufontaine--it was monstrous. + +It had the bitterness of aloes also, for in his own heart he knew that +Detricand spoke truth. The fearless appeal had roused him, for a moment +at least, to the beauty and righteousness of a sombre, all but hopeless, +cause, while the impeachment had pierced every sore in his heart. He +felt now the smarting anger, the outraged vanity of the wrong-doer who, +having argued down his own conscience, and believing he has blinded +others as himself, suddenly finds that himself and his motives are naked +before the world. + +Detricand had known regretfully, even as he spoke, that the Duke, no +matter what the reason, would not now ally himself with the Royalists; +though, had his life been in danger, he still would have spoken the +truth. So he had been human enough to try and force open the door of +mystery by a biting suggestion; for he had a feeling that in the presence +of the mysterious kinsman, Philip d'Avranche, lay the cause of the Duke's +resistance to his prayer. Who was this Philip d'Avranche? At the moment +it seemed absurd to him that his mind should travel back to the Isle of +Jersey. + +The fury of the Duke was about to break forth, when the door of the +chamber opened and Philip stepped inside. The silence holding two men +now held three, and a curious, cold astonishment possessed the two +younger. The Duke was too blind with anger to see the start of +recognition his visitors gave at sight of each other, and by a +concurrence of feeling neither Detricand nor Philip gave sign of +acquaintance. Wariness was Philip's cue, wondering caution Detricand's +attitude. + +The Duke spoke first. Turning from Philip, he said to Detricand with +malicious triumph: + +"It will disconcert your pious mind to know I have yet one kinsman who +counts it no shame to inherit Bercy. Monsieur le comte, I give you here +the honour to know Captain Philip d'Avranche." + +Something of Detricand's old buoyant self came back to him. His face +flushed with sudden desire to laugh, then it paled in dumb astonishment. +So this man, Philip d'Avranche, was to be set against him even in the +heritage of his family, as for one hour in a Jersey kitchen they had been +bitter opposites. For the heritage of the Houses of Vaufontaine and +Bercy he cared little--he had deeper ambitions; but this adventuring +sailor roused in him again the private grudge he had once begged him to +remember. Recovering himself, he answered meaningly, bowing low: + +"The honour is memorable--and monstrous." Philip set his teeth, but +replied: "I am overwhelmed to meet one whose reputation is known--in +every taproom." + +Neither had chance to say more, for the Duke, though not conceiving the +cause or meaning of the biting words, felt the contemptuous suggestion in +Detricand's voice, and burst out in anger: + +"Go tell the prince of Vaufontaine that the succession is assured to my +house. Monsieur my cousin, Captain Philip d'Avranche, is now my adopted +son; a wife is chosen for him, and soon, monsieur le comte, there will be +still another successor to the title." + +"The Duc de Bercy should add inspired domestic prophecy to the family +record in the 'Almanach de Gotha,"' answered Detricand. + +"God's death!" cried the old nobleman, trembling with rage, and +stretching towards the bell-rope, "you shall go to Paris and the Temple. +Fouche will take care of you." + +"Stop, monsieur le duc!" Detricand's voice rang through the room. "You +shall not betray even the humblest of your kinsmen, like that monster +d'Orleans who betrayed the highest of his. Be wise: there are hundreds +of your people who still will pass a Royalist on to safety." + +The Duke's hand dropped from the bell-rope. He knew that Detricand's +words were true. Ruling himself to quiet, he said with cold hatred: + +"Like all your breed, crafty and insolent. But I will make you pay for +it one day." + +Glancing towards Philip as though to see if he could move him, Detricand +answered: "Make no haste on my behalf; years are not of such moment to me +as to your Highness." + +Philip saw Detricand's look, and felt his moment and his chance had come. +"Monsieur le comte!" he exclaimed threateningly. + +The Duke glanced proudly at Philip. "You will collect the debt, cousin," +said he, and the smile on his face was wicked as he again turned towards +Detricand. + +"With interest well compounded," answered Philip firmly. + +Detricand smiled. "I have drawn the Norman-Jersey cousin, then?" said +he. "Now we can proceed to compliments." Then with a change of manner +he added quietly: "Your Highness, may the House of Bercy have no worse +enemy than I! I came only to plead the cause which, if it give death, +gives honour too. And I know well that at least you are not against us +in heart. Monsieur d'Avranche"--he turned to Philip, and his words were +slow and deliberate--"I hope we may yet meet in the Place du Vier Prison +--but when and where you will; and you shall find me in the Vendee when +you please." So saying, he bowed, and, turning, left the room. + +"What meant the fellow by his Place du Vier Prison?" asked the Duke. + +"Who knows, monsieur le duc?" answered Philip. "A fanatic like all the +Vaufontaines--a roysterer yesterday, a sainted chevalier to-morrow," said +the Duke irritably. "But they still have strength and beauty--always!" +he added reluctantly. Then he looked at the strong and comely frame +before him, and was reassured. He laid a hand on Philip's broad +shoulder, and said admiringly: + +"You will of course have your hour with him, cousin: but not--not till +you are a d'Avranche of Bercy." + +"Not till I am a d'Avranche of Bercy," responded Philip in a low voice. + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +Egotism with which all are diseased +Egregious egotism of young love there are only two identities +Follow me; if I retreat, kill me; if I fall, avenge me +It's the people who try to be clever who never are +Knew the lie of silence to be as evil as the lie of speech +People who are clever never think of trying to be + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BATTLE OF THE STRONG, PARKER, V3 *** + +********** This file should be named 6232.txt or 6232.zip *********** + +This eBook was produced by David Widger + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance +of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. +Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections, +even years after the official publication date. + +Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. + +Most people start at our Web sites at: +https://gutenberg.org or +http://promo.net/pg + +These Web sites include award-winning information about Project +Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new +eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!). + + +Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement +can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is +also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the +indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an +announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter. + +http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext03 or +ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03 + +Or /etext02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90 + +Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want, +as it appears in our Newsletters. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours +to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text +files per month: 1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+ +We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002 +If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total +will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks! +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users. + +Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated): + +eBooks Year Month + + 1 1971 July + 10 1991 January + 100 1994 January + 1000 1997 August + 1500 1998 October + 2000 1999 December + 2500 2000 December + 3000 2001 November + 4000 2001 October/November + 6000 2002 December* + 9000 2003 November* +10000 2004 January* + + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created +to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people +and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut, +Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois, +Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts, +Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New +Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, +Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South +Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West +Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming. + +We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones +that have responded. + +As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list +will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states. +Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state. + +In answer to various questions we have received on this: + +We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally +request donations in all 50 states. If your state is not listed and +you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have, +just ask. + +While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are +not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting +donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to +donate. + +International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about +how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made +deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are +ways. + +Donations by check or money order may be sent to: + +Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +PMB 113 +1739 University Ave. +Oxford, MS 38655-4109 + +Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment +method other than by check or money order. + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by +the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN +[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154. Donations are +tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law. As fund-raising +requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be +made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +You can get up to date donation information online at: + +https://www.gutenberg.org/donation.html + + +*** + +If you can't reach Project Gutenberg, +you can always email directly to: + +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message. + +We would prefer to send you information by email. + + +**The Legal Small Print** + + +(Three Pages) + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks, +is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart +through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project"). +Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook +under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market +any commercial products without permission. + +To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may +receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims +all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation, +and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated +with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including +legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the +following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this eBook, +[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook, +or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + eBook or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word + processing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the eBook (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the + gross profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation" + the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were + legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent + periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to + let us know your plans and to work out the details. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of +public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed +in machine readable form. + +The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time, +public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses. +Money should be paid to the: +"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or +software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at: +hart@pobox.com + +[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only +when distributed free of all fees. Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by +Michael S. Hart. Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be +used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be +they hardware or software or any other related product without +express permission.] + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* + diff --git a/6232.zip b/6232.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f2dc87e --- /dev/null +++ b/6232.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1e69848 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #6232 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6232) |