with his fleet in Grouville Bay was none other than the sometime Jersey
midshipman, now Admiral Prince Philip d'Avranche, Duc de Bercy.
Understanding then the meaning of their laughter, and the implied insult
to Guida, Maitresse Aimable's voice came ravaging out of the silence
where it lay hid so often and so long, and the signalmen went their ways
shamefacedly.

She could not make head or tail of her thoughts now, nor see an inch
before her nose; all she could feel was an aching heart for Guida. She
had heard strange tales of how Philip had become Prince Philip
d'Avranche, and husband of the Comtesse Chantavoine, and afterwards Duc
de Bercy. Also she had heard how Philip, just before he became the Duc
de Bercy, had fought his ship against a French vessel off Ushant, and,
though she had heavier armament than his own, had destroyed her. For
this he had been made an admiral. Only the other day her Jean had
brought the Gazette de Jersey in which all these things were related,
and had spelled them out for her. And now this same Philip d'Avranche
with his new name and fame was on his way to defend the Isle of Jersey.

Mattresse Aimable's muddled mind could not get hold of this new Philip.
For years she had thought him a monster, and here he was, a great and
valiant gentleman to the world. He had done a thing that Jean would
rather have cut off his hand--both hands--than do, and yet here he was,
an admiral, a prince, and a sovereign duke, and men like Jean were as
dust beneath his feet. The real Philip she knew: he was the man who had
spoiled the life of a woman; this other Philip--she could read about him,
she could think about him, just as she could think about William and his
horse' in Boulay Bay, or the Little Bad Folk of Rocbert; but she could
not realise him as a thing of flesh and blood and actual being. The more
she tried to realise him the more mixed she became.