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.