Chantavoine as the chosen wife of Philip the more it troubled
him. He could not shake off oppressive thoughts concerning Guida
and this betrothal. They interwove themselves through all his secret
business with the Royalists of Bercy. For his own part, he would have
gone far and done much to shield her from injury. He had seen and
known in her something higher than Philip might understand--a simple
womanliness, a profound depth of character. His pledge to her had
been the key-note of his new life. Some day, if he lived and his cause
prospered, he would go back to Jersey--too late perhaps to tell her
what was in his heart, but not too late to tell her the promise had been
kept.

It was a relief when the morning of the third day came, bright and
joyous, and he knew that before the sun went down he should be on his
way back to Saumur.

His friend the innkeeper urged him not to attend the meeting of the
States of Bercy, lest he should be recognised by spies of government. He
was, however, firm in his will to go, but he exchanged his coat with the
red cross for one less conspicuous.

With this eventful morn came the news that the envoy to England had
returned with Philip's freedom by exchange of prisoners, and with
the needful licence from King George. But other news too was carrying
through the town: the French Government, having learned of the Duke's
intentions towards Philip, had despatched envoys from Paris to forbid
the adoption and deed of succession.

Though the Duke would have defied them, it behoved him to end the
matter, if possible, before these envoys' arrival. The States therefore
was hurriedly convened two hours before the time appointed, and the race
began between the Duke and the emissaries of the French Government.

It was a perfect day, and as the brilliant procession wound down the
great rock from the castle, in ever-increasing, glittering line, the
effect was mediaeval in its glowing splendour. All had been ready for
two days, and the general enthusiasm had seized upon the occasion with
an adventurous picturesqueness, in keeping with this strange elevation
of a simple British captain to royal estate. This buoyant, clear-faced,
stalwart figure had sprung suddenly out of the dark into the garish
light of sovereign place, and the imagination of the people had been
touched. He was so genial too, so easy-mannered, this d'Avranche of
Jersey, whose genealogy had been posted on a hundred walls and carried
b