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 wi