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Updated: June 8, 2025
He was never so much worth respect as when, a dispossessed sovereign with an empty title, discountenanced by his order, disbarred his profession, he held himself ready to take whatever penalty now came. In the presence of General Grandjon-Larisse, with whom was the might of righteous vengeance, he was the more distinguished figure.
"It is through a melancholy chance you see me at all," replied Detricand heavily. "To what piteous accident am I indebted?" Grandjon-Larisse replied in an acid tone, for war had given his temper an edge. "Were not my reasons for surrender sound? I eschewed eloquence I gave you facts." Detricand shook his head, but did not reply at once. His brow was clouded.
But since the war began Grandjon-Larisse had gone one way, and he had gone the other, bitter enemies in principle but friendly enough at heart. They had not seen each other since the year before Rullecour's invasion of Jersey. "I had hoped to see you by sunset, monseigneur," said Grandjon-Larisse after they had exchanged greetings.
He was never so much worth respect as when, a dispossessed sovereign with an empty title, discountenanced by his order, disbarred his profession, he held himself ready to take whatever penalty now came. In the presence of General Grandjon-Larisse, with whom was the might of righteous vengeance, he was the more distinguished figure.
But when the Marquis Grandjon-Larisse, the uncle of the Comtesse, died, her cousin, General Grandjon-Larisse of the Republican army whose word with Dalbarade had secured Philip's release years before for her own safety, first urged and then commanded her temporary absence from the duchy.
Stopping at last, he took from his pocket the letter received that afternoon from General Grandjon-Larisse, and read it through again hurriedly. It proposed a truce, and a meeting with himself at a village near, for conference upon the surrender of Detricand's small army. "A bitter end to all our fighting," said Detricand aloud at last. "But he is right. It is now a mere waste of life.
"You understand, monsieur?" said Grandjon-Larisse. "Perfectly and without the glove, monsieur le general," answered Philip quietly. "Where shall my seconds wait upon you?" As he spoke he turned with a slight gesture towards Damour. "In Paris, monsieur, if it please you." "I should have preferred it here, monsieur le general but Paris, if it is your choice." "At 22, Rue de Mazarin, monsieur."
"Have a care," said Grandjon-Larisse with sudden anger, his hand dropping upon the handle of his sword. "I ask leave for plain beliefs as you asked leave for plain words. I must speak my mind, and I will say now that it has changed in this matter of fighting and surrender. I will tell you what has changed it," and Detricand drew from his pocket Lorenzo Dow's journal. "It concerns both you and me."
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.
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.
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