Something of Detricand's old buoyant self came back to him. His face
flushed with sudden desire to laugh, then it paled in dumb astonishment.
So this man, Philip d'Avranche, was to be set against him even in the
heritage of his family, as for one hour in a Jersey kitchen they had been
bitter opposites. For the heritage of the Houses of Vaufontaine and
Bercy he cared little--he had deeper ambitions; but this adventuring
sailor roused in him again the private grudge he had once begged him to
remember. Recovering himself, he answered meaningly, bowing low:

"The honour is memorable--and monstrous." Philip set his teeth, but
replied: "I am overwhelmed to meet one whose reputation is known--in
every taproom."

Neither had chance to say more, for the Duke, though not conceiving the
cause or meaning of the biting words, felt the contemptuous suggestion in
Detricand's voice, and burst out in anger:

"Go tell the prince of Vaufontaine that the succession is assured to my
house. Monsieur my cousin, Captain Philip d'Avranche, is now my adopted
son; a wife is chosen for him, and soon, monsieur le comte, there will be
still another successor to the title."

"The Duc de Bercy should add inspired domestic prophecy to the family
record in the 'Almanach de Gotha,"' answered Detricand.

"God's death!" cried the old nobleman, trembling with rage, and
stretching towards the bell-rope, "you shall go to Paris and the Temple.
Fouche will take care of you."

"Stop, monsieur le duc!" Detricand's voice rang through the room. "You