"Why, it's little Guida Landresse!" he said under his breath--"I'd know
her anywhere. Death and Beauty, what a face!" Then he turned to Ranulph
in recognition.

"Ranulph Delagarde, eh?" said he good-humouredly. "You've forgotten me,
I see. I'm Philip d'Avranche, of the Narcissus."

Ranulph had forgotten. The slight lad Philip had grown bronzed, and
stouter of frame. In the eleven years since they had been together at
the Battle of Jersey, events, travel, and responsibility had altered him
vastly. Ranulph had changed only in growing very tall and athletic and
strong; the look of him was still that of the Norman lad of the isle,
though the power and intelligence of his face were unusual.

The girl in the cottage doorway had not forgotten at all. The words that
d'Avranche had said to her years before, when she was a child, came to
her mind: "My name is Philip; call me Philip."

The recollection of that day when she snatched off the Bailly's hat
brought a smile to her lips now, so quickly were her feelings moved one
way or another. Then she grew suddenly serious, for the memory of the
hour when he saved her from the scimitar of the Turk came to her, and her
heart throbbed hotly. But she smiled again, though more gently and a
little wistfully now.

Philip d'Avranche looked up towards her once more, and returned her
smile. Then he addressed the awed crowd. He did not spare his language;
he unconsciously used an oath or two. He ordered them off to their
homes. When they hesitated (for they were slow to acknowledge any
authority save their own sacred Royal Court) the sailors advanced on them