He eyed Philip keenly, yet too there was an unasked question in his look.
He was a critic of human nature, he understood the code of honour, none
better; his was a mind that might be wilfully but never crassly blind.
He was selfish where this young gentleman was concerned, yet he knew well
how the same gentleman ought to think, speak, and act.

The moment of the great test was come.

Philip could not read behind the strange, shrivelled face. Instinct
could help him much, but it could not interpret that parchment. He did
not know whether his intended reply would alienate the Duke or not, but
if it did, then he must bear it. He had come, as he thought, to the crux
of this adventure. All in a moment he was recalled again to his real
position. The practical facts of his life possessed him. He was
standing between a garish dream and commonplace realities. Old feelings
came back--the old life. The ingrain loyalty of all his years was his
again. Whatever he might be, he was still an English officer, and he was
not the man to break the code of professional honour lightly. If the
Duke's favour and adoption must depend on the answer he must now give,
well, let it be; his last state could not be worse than his first.

So, still standing, he answered the Duke boldly, yet quietly, his new
kinsman watching him with a grim curiosity.

"Monsieur le prince," said Philip, "I am used to poverty, that matters
little; but whatever you intend towards me--and I am persuaded it is to
my great honour and happiness--I am, and must still remain, an officer of
the English navy."