ready married? There is no--" He
paused again.

For an instant there was absolute stillness. Philip had felt his heart
give one great thump of terror: Did the Intendant know anything? Did
Detricand know anything.

Standing rigid for a moment, his pen poised, the Duke looked sharply
at the Intendant and then still more sharply at Philip. The progress of
that look had granted Philip an instant's time to recover his composure.
He was conscious that the Comtesse Chantavoine had given a little start,
and then had become quite still and calm. Now her eyes were intently
fixed upon him.

He had, however, been too often in physical danger to lose his nerve at
this moment. The instant was big with peril; it was the turning point
of his life, and he felt it. His eyes dropped towards the spot of ink at
the point of the pen the Duke held. It fascinated him, it was destiny.

He took a step nearer to the table, and, drawing himself up, looked his
princely interlocutor steadily in the eyes.

"Of course there is no marriage--no woman?" asked the Duke a little
hoarsely, his eyes fastened on Philip's. With steady voice Philip
replied: "Of course, monsieur le duc."

There was another stillness. Some one sighed heavily. It was the
Comtesse Chantavoine.

The next instant the Duke stooped, and wrote his signature three times
hurriedly upon the deeds.

A moment afterwards, Detricand was in the street, making towards "The
Golden Crown." As he hurried on he heard the galloping of horses ahead
of him. Suddenly some one plucked him by the arm from a doorway.

"Quick--within!" said a voice. It was that of the Duke's porter, Frange
Pergot. Without hesitation or a word, Detricand did as he was bid, and
the door clanged to behind him.

"Fouche's men are coming down the street; spies have betrayed you,"
whispered Pergot. "Follow me. I will hide you till night, and then you
must away."

Pergot had spoken the truth. But Detricand was safely hidden, and
Fouche's men came too late to capture the Vendean chief or to forbid
those formal acts which made Philip d'Avranche a prince.

Once again at Saumur, a week later, Detricand wrote a long letter to
Carterette Mattingley, in Jersey, in which he set forth these strange
events at Bercy, and asked certain questions concerning Guida.

CHAPTER XXIV

Since the day of his secret marriage with Guida, Philip had been carried
along in the gale of naval preparation and incidents of war as a leaf