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,