; with Philip as duke there would be none at all,
for the instinct of distrust and antipathy was mutual. Besides, as a
Republican, he looked for his reward from Fouche in good time.

Presently it was announced by the President that the signatures to the
acts of the States would be set in private. Thereupon, with all the
concourse standing, the Duke, surrounded by the law, military, and civil
officers of the duchy, girded upon Philip the jewelled sword which
had been handed down in the House of d'Avranche from generation to
generation. The open function being thus ended, the people were enjoined
to proceed at once to the cathedral, where a Te Deum would be sung.

The public then retired, leaving the Duke and a few of the highest
officials of the duchy to formally sign and seal the deeds. When the
outer doors were closed, one unofficial person remained--Comte Detricand
de Tournay, of the House of Vaufontaine. Leaning against a pillar, he
stood looking calmly at the group surrounding the Duke at the great
council-table.

Suddenly the Duke turned to a door at the right of the President's
chair, and, opening it, bowed courteously to some one beyond. An instant
afterwards there entered the Comtesse Chantavoine, with her uncle the
Marquis Grandjon-Larisse, an aged and feeble but distinguished figure.
They advanced towards the table, the lady on the Duke's arm, and Philip,
saluting them gravely, offered the Marquis a chair. At first the Marquis
declined it, but the Duke pressed him, and in the subsequent proceedings
he of all the number was seated.

Detricand apprehended the meaning of the scene. This was the lady whom
the Duke had chosen as wife for the new Prince. The Duke had invited the
Comtesse to witness the final act which was to make Philip d'Avranche
his heir in legal fact as by verbal proclamation; not doubting that the
romantic nature of the incident would impress her. He had even hoped
that the function might be followed by a formal betrothal in the
presence of the officials; and the situation might still have been
critical for Philip had it not been for the pronounced reserve of the
Comtesse herself.

Tall, of gracious and stately carriage, the curious quietness of the
face of the Comtesse would have been almost an unbecoming gravity were
it not that the eyes, clear, dark, and strong, lightened it. The mouth
had a somewhat set sweetness, even as the face was somewhat fixed in
its calm. In her bearing, in all h