As in her mental maze she sat panting her way to enlightenment, she saw
Guida's boat entering the little harbour. Now the truth must be told--
but how?

After her first exclamation of welcome to mother and child, Maitresse
Aimable struggled painfully for her voice. She tried to find words in
which to tell Guida the truth, but, stopping in despair, she suddenly
began rocking the child back and forth, saying only: "Prince Admiral he
--and now to come! O my good--O my good!" Guida's sharp intuition found
the truth.

"Philip d'Avranche!" she said to herself. Then aloud, in a shaking
voice--"Philip d'Avranche!"

She could not think clearly for a moment. It was as if her brain had
received a blow, and in her head was a singing numbness, obscuring
eyesight, hearing, speech.

When she had recovered a little she took the child from Maitresse
Aimable, and pressing him to her bosom placed him in the Sieur de
Mauprat's great arm-chair. This action, ordinary as it seemed, was
significant of what was in her mind. The child himself realised
something unusual, and he sat perfectly still, two small hands spread
out on the big arms.

"You always believed in me, 'tresse Aimable," Guida said at last in a low
voice.

"Oui-gia, what else?" was the instant reply. The quick responsiveness