was fierce tumult. Her hour had come at last, the hour in which she must
declare that she was the wife of this man. She had no proofs. No doubt
he would deny it now, for he knew how she loathed him. But she must tell
her tale.

She was about to address the Bailly, but, as though a pang of pity shot,
through her heart, she turned instead and looked at the Comtesse
Chantavoine. She could find it in her to pause in compassion for this
poor lady, more wronged than herself had been. Their eyes met. One
instant's flash of intelligence between the souls of two women, and Guida
knew that the look of the Comtesse Chantavoine had said: "Speak for your
child."

Thereupon she spoke.

"Messieurs, Prince Philip d'Avranche is my husband."

Every one in the court-room stirred with excitement. Some weak-nerved
woman with a child at her breast began to cry, and the little one joined
its feeble wail to hers.

"Five years ago," Guida continued, "I was married to Philip d'Avranche by
the Reverend Lorenzo Dow in the church of St. Michael's--"

The Bailly interrupted with a grunt. "H'm--Lorenzo Dow is well out of
the way-have done."

"May I not then be heard in my own defence?" Guida cried in indignation.
"For years I have suffered silently slander and shame. Now I speak for
myself at last, and you will not hear me! I come to this court of