Drawing from his pocket a parchment gorgeous with seals, he stooped, and
taking the hands of the child, he placed it in them. "Hold it tight,
hold it tight, my little friend, for it is your very own," he said to the
child with cheerful kindliness. Then stepping back a little, and looking
earnestly at Guida, he added with a motion of the hand towards the child:

"You must learn the truth from him."

"Oh, what can you mean--what can you mean?" she exclaimed. Dropping
upon her knees, and running an arm round the child, she opened the
parchment and read.

"What--what right has he to this?" she cried in a voice of dismay.
"A year ago you dispossessed his father from the duchy. Ah, I do not
understand it! You--only you are the Duc de Bercy."

Her eyes were shining with a happy excitement and tenderness. No such
look had been in them for many a day. Something that had long slept was
waking in her, something long voiceless was speaking. This man brought
back to her heart a glow she had never thought to feel again, the glow of
the wonder of life and of a girlish faith.

"I am only Detricand of Vaufontaine," he answered. "What, did you--could
you think that I would dispossess your child? His father was the adopted
son of the Duc de Bercy. Nothing could wipe that out, neither law nor
nations. You are always Princess Guida, and your child is always Prince
Guilbert d'Avranche--and more than that."

His voice became lower, his war-beaten face lighted with that fire and