“It is too late,” he says. “There is Doctor Franklin’s request. I cannot countermand the orders to Thevenard until he withdraws his request.”
“I shall see Thevenard!”
Two hundred and eighty miles in fifty-four hours! An unprecedented thing! And yet Commodore Paul Jones does it, and rides into l’Orient in time to prevail on General Thevenard, who is his friend and his worshipper, to let the Alliance pass free. The forts would else have sunk the ship with their tons upon tons of metal. He saves the Alliance by a narrow margin of hours, and Lee and Landais shake out their sails for America.
“They go to disgrace and grief,” thinks Commodore Paul Jones, consoling himself for their escape. Then he considers how he has saved the lives of more than two hundred honest sailors, who have fought well for flag and country, and is consoled in earnest.
Commodore Paul Jones is surrounded by surprises. He is met on the road, while returning to his Aimee, by a message from the Duchess de Chartres.
“Come instantly to me!” it says.
There is a look of mingled sorrow and resentment, with over all a hue of humor, on the Duchess’ bright face when she welcomes Commodore Paul Jones.
“The Marchioness de Marsan and I have arranged it,” she says, and her glance is wicked and amused.
“Arranged what?”
“Your marriage, my friend! I congratulate you! You and your red-haired, blue-eyed one are to wed.”