turned to the booths for refreshments, or to the printing-machine set up
near La Pyramide, and bought halfpenny chapsheets telling of recent
defeats of the French; though mostly they told in ebullient words of the
sea-fight which had made Philip d'Avranche an admiral, and of his
elevation to a sovereign dukedom. The crowds restlessly awaited his
coming now.

Inside the Court there was more restlessness still. It was now many
minutes beyond the hour fixed. The Bailly whispered to the Governor, the
Governor to his aide, and the aide sought the naval officers present; but
these could give no explanation of the delay. The Comtesse Chantavoine
was in her place of honour beside the Attorney-General--but Prince Philip
and his flag-lieutenant came not.

The Comtesse Chantavoine was the one person outwardly unmoved. What she
thought, who could tell? Hundreds of eyes scanned her face, yet she
seemed unconscious of them, indifferent to them. What would not the
Bailly have given for her calmness! What would not the Greffier have
given for her importance! She drew every eye by virtue of something
which was more than the name of Duchesse de Bercy. The face, the
bearing, had an unconscious dignity, a living command and composure: the
heritage, perhaps, of a race ever more fighters than courtiers, rather
desiring good sleep after good warfare than luxurious peace.

The silence, the tension grew painful. A whole half hour had the Court
waited beyond its time. At last, however, cheers arose outside, and all
knew that the Prince was coming. Presently the doors were thrown open,
two halberdiers stepped inside, and an officer of the Court announced
Admiral his Serene Highness Prince Philip d'Avranche, Duc de Bercy.