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Updated: June 16, 2025
De Tournay told me he repented of coming with Rullecour, and he felt he had spoilt his life that he could never return to France again or to his people." The old Chevalier shook his head sadly. "Is he dead?" he asked. There was a slight pause, and then Detricand answered: "No, still living." "Where is he?" "I promised de Tournay that I would never reveal that."
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.
"You see now," said Detricand, "that though it was my will to die fighting your army in the last trench " "Alone, I fear," interjected Grandjon-Larisse with curt admiration. "My duty and my purpose go elsewhere," continued Detricand. "They take me to Jersey. And yours, monsieur?" Grandjon-Larisse beat his foot impatiently on the floor.
Suddenly another thought came to him, and his lips moved he was murmuring to himself. He would leave a goodly legacy to the captive of his prayers. Taking the leather-covered journal of his life in both hands, he held it out. "Highness, highness " said he. Death was breaking the voice in his throat. Detricand stooped and ran an arm round his shoulder, but raising himself up Mr.
"We have had enough of blood. Let us have peace. To proceed is certain death to all, and your cause worse lost. On my honour, monseigneur, I do this at some risk, in memory of old days. I have lost too many friends," he added in a lower voice. Detricand was moved. "I thank you for this honest courtesy. I had almost misread your letter," he answered. "Now I will speak freely.
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.
Dow half raised himself on his couch, and the fevered eyes swallowed Detricand. "You you are a prince, monsieur?" he said. Detricand glanced up from the letter he was reading again, a grave and troubled look on his face. "Prince of Vaufontaine they call me, but, as you know, I am only a vagabond turned soldier," he said.
Without hesitation or a word, Detricand did as he was bid, and the door clanged to behind him. "Fouche's men are coming down the street; spies have betrayed you," whispered Pergot. "Follow me. I will hide you till night, and then you must away." Pergot had spoken the truth.
He had met this officer of Rullecour's these ten years past, and never once had the Frenchman, by so much as a hint, suggested that he knew the truth about his father. Here and now the contemptuous mirth upon the Frenchman's face told the whole story. The danger and horror of the situation descended on him. Instantly he started towards Detricand.
"Monsieur le Comte is quite right," he added, turning to his council "he may always claim the privileges of a relative of the Bercys; but the hospitality goes not beyond my house and my presence, and monsieur le comte will understand my meaning." At that moment Detricand caught the eye of Damour the Intendant, and he understood perfectly.
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