"My dear father, France can afford the luxury of not selling her honour."
"And the English will be furious with us."
"The English cannot do more than fight us, and they are doing that already!" she retorted.
"The risks, my dear child, the risks!" he protested again.
"What risks, father dear?" she said eagerly. "Tell me, what do we risk by sending Le Monarque with secret orders to the Scottish coast, to a spot known to no one save to Lord Eglinton and myself, confided to my husband by the unfortunate young Prince before he started on this miserable expedition? Captain Barre will carry nothing that can in any way betray the secret of his destination nor the object of his journey—my husband's seal-ring on his finger, nothing more; this token he will take on shore himself—not even the ship's crew will know aught that would be fatal if betrayed."
"But the English can intercept Le Monarque!"
"We must run that risk," she retorted. "Once past the coast of England, Scotland is lonely enough. Le Monarque will meet no other craft, and Captain Barre knows the secrets of his own calling—he has run a cargo before now."
"This is childish obstinacy, Lydie, and I do not recognize the statesman in this sentimental chit, who prates nonsense like a schoolgirl imbued with novel-reading," said the Duke now with marked impatience; "and pray, if His Majesty should put a veto on your using one of his ships for this privateering expedition?"
"I propose sending Le Monarque to-morrow," rejoined Lydie quietly. "Captain Barre will have his orders direct from the Ministry of Finance; and then we'll obtain His Majesty's sanction on the following day."
"But this is madness, my child!" exclaimed the Duke. "You cannot openly set at defiance the wishes of the King!"