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Updated: June 15, 2025
Detricand told him all he knew, and added: "A plain duty awaits us both, monsieur le general. You are concerned for the Comtesse Chantavoine; I am concerned for the Duchy of Bercy and for this poor lady this poor lady in Jersey," he added. Grandjon-Larisse was white with rage. "The upstart! The English brigand!" he said between his teeth.
Of the true relations between Guida and Philip he knew nothing, but from that last day in Jersey he did know that Philip had roused in her emotions, perhaps less vital than love but certainly less equable than friendship. Now in his fear that Guida might suffer, the more he thought of the Comtesse Chantavoine as the chosen wife of Philip the more it troubled him.
Was he then about to restore to Guida her child? After an instant's pause Philip continued: "But in this case there was no trespass, for the child is my own." Every eye in the Cohue Royale fixed itself upon him, then upon Guida, then upon her who was known as the Duchesse de Bercy. The face of the Comtesse Chantavoine was like snow, white and cold.
If at last there crept over Europe wonderful tales of Detricand's past life in Jersey, of the real Duchesse de Bercy, and of the new Prince of Vaufontaine, Detricand did not, or feigned not to, hear them; and the Comtesse Chantavoine had disappeared from public knowledge.
Standing rigid for a moment, his pen poised, the Duke looked sharply at the Intendant and then still more sharply at Philip. The progress of that look had granted Philip an instant's time to recover his composure. He was conscious that the Comtesse Chantavoine had given a little start, and then had become quite still and calm. Now her eyes were intently fixed upon him.
In his heart Philip was exultant, though outwardly he was calm. He was, however, unprepared for what followed. Suddenly the Duke, putting a hand on his shoulder, said: "One thing, cousin, one thing: you must marry in our order, and at once. There shall be no delay. Succession must be made sure. I know the very woman the Comtesse Chantavoine young, rich, amiable.
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.
The jurats whispered to each other. "Who are you, monsieur?" said the Bailly. "I am Detricand, Prince of Vaufontaine," he replied, "for whom the Comtesse Chantavoine will vouch," he added in a pained voice, and bowed low to her and to Guida. "I am but this hour landed. I came to Jersey on this very matter."
He remembered it had been burned into his brain the day he saw it first in the Gazette de Jersey that he had married the Comtesse Chantavoine, niece of the Marquis Grandjon-Larisse, upon the very day, and but an hour before, the old Duc de Bercy suddenly died. It flashed across his mind now what he had felt then.
"She is dead she is dead!" he gasped. Grandjon-Larisse inclined his head, then after a moment, gravely said: "What did you think was left for a woman for a Chantavoine? It is not the broken heart that kills, but broken pride, monseigneur." So saying, he bowed again to Philip and turned upon his heel.
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