d, 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. Ranulph had changed only in growing very tall and athletic and
strong; the look of him was still that of the Norman lad of the isle,
though the power and intelligence of his face were unusual.

The girl in the cottage doorway had not forgotten at all. The words that
d'Avranche had said to her years before, when she was a child, came to
her mind: "My name is Philip; call me Philip."

The recollection of that day when she snatched off the Bailly's hat
brought a smile to her lips now, so quickly were her feelings moved one
way or another. Then she grew suddenly serious, for the memory of the
hour when he saved her from the scimitar of the Turk came to her, and
her heart throbbed hotly. But she smiled again, though more gently and a
little wistfully now.

Philip d'Avranche looked up towards her once more, and returned her
smile. Then he addressed the awed crowd. He did not spare his language;
he unconsciously used an oath or two. He ordered them off to their
homes. When they hesitated (for they were slow to acknowledge any
authority save their own sacred Royal Court) the sailors advanced on
them with drawn cutlasses, and a moment later the Place du Vier Prison
was clear. Leaving a half-dozen sailors on guard till the town corps
should arrive, d'Avranche prepared to march, and turned to Delagarde.

"You've done me a good turn, Monsieur d'Avranche," said Ranulph.

"There was a time you called me Philip," said d'Avranche, smiling. "We
were lads together."

"It's different now," answered Delagarde.

"Nothing is different at all, of course," returned d'Avranche
carelessly, yet with the slightest touch of condescension, as he
held out his hand. Turning to the Chevalier, he said: "Monsieur, I
congratulate you on having such a champion"--with a motion towards
Ranulph. "And you, monsieur, on your brave protector"--he again saluted
the girl at the window above.

"I am the obliged and humble servant of monsieur, and monsieur,"
responded the little gentleman, turning from one to the other with
a courtly bow, the three-cornered hat under his arm, the right foot
forward, the thin fingers making a graceful salutation. "But I--I
think--I really think I must go back to prison. I was not formally set
free. I was out last night beyond the hour set by the Court. I lost my
way, a