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Updated: May 29, 2025
"It contains the record of the marriage of Lieutenant Philip d'Avranche and Guida Landresse de Landresse, both of the Isle of Jersey, by special license of the Bishop of Winchester." "Precisely so, precisely so," said the little grey figure the Chevalier Orvillier du Champsavoys de Beaumanoir. Tears ran down his cheeks as he turned towards Guida, but he was smiling too.
There was the creaking and screaming of the carronade-slides, the rattling of the carriages of the long twelve- pounders amidships as they were shotted and run out again, the thud of the carpenters' hammers as the shot-holes were plugged good sounds in the ears of a fighter " "Of a d'Avranche of a d'Avranche!" interposed the Prince.
Only the other day her Jean had brought the Gazette de Jersey in which all these things were related, and had spelled them out for her. And now this same Philip d'Avranche with his new name and fame was on his way to defend the Isle of Jersey. Mattresse Aimable's muddled mind could not get hold of this new Philip.
The first few words had little or no significance for Guida, but presently she was held as by the fascination of a serpent. "'And Ma'm'selle Carterette, what do you think this young captain, now Prince Philip d'Avranche, heir to the title of Bercy what do you think he is next to do?
She had heard strange tales of how Philip had become Prince Philip d'Avranche, and husband of the Comtesse Chantavoine, and afterwards Duc de Bercy. Also she had heard how Philip, just before he became the Duc de Bercy, had fought his ship against a French vessel off Ushant, and, though she had heavier armament than his own, had destroyed her. For this he had been made an admiral.
Philip d'Avranche sauntered slowly through the Vier Marchi, nodding right and left to people who greeted him. It was Saturday and market day in Jersey. The square was crowded with people. All was a cheerful babel; there was movement, colour everywhere.
I waited, believing that God's justice was surer than man's. At last Philip d'Avranche my husband returned here. He invaded my home, and begged me to come with my child to him as his wife he who had so evilly wronged me, and wronged another more than me. I refused. Then he stole my child from me. You ask for proofs of my marriage. Messieurs, I have no proofs.
This buoyant, clear-faced, stalwart figure had sprung suddenly out of the dark into the garish light of sovereign place, and the imagination of the people had been touched. He was so genial too, so easy-mannered, this d'Avranche of Jersey, whose genealogy had been posted on a hundred walls and carried by a thousand mouths through the principality.
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 force which had made him during years past a figure in the war records of Europe.
Then he turned to Ranulph in recognition. "Ranulph Delagarde, eh?" said he good-humouredly. "You've forgotten me, I see. I'm Philip d'Avranche, of the Narcissus." Ranulph had forgotten. The slight lad Philip had grown bronzed, and stouter of frame. In the eleven years since they had been together at the Battle of Jersey, events, travel, and responsibility had altered him vastly.
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