He nodded sagely. “Maman—” he said. She turned to him; the little figure was erect with a sweet importance. “Maman, what am I now—with the sword?” he asked, with wide-open, amazed eyes.
A strange look passed across her face. Stooping, she kissed his curly hair.
“You are my prince,” she said.
A little later the two were standing on that point of land called Grosnez—the brow of the Jersey tiger. Not far from them was a signal-staff which telegraphed to another signal-staff inland. Upon the staff now was hoisted a red flag. Guida knew the signals well. The red flag meant warships in sight. Then bags were hoisted that told of the number of vessels: one, two, three, four, five, six, then one next the upright, meaning seven. Last of all came the signal that a flag-ship was among them.
This was a fleet in command of an admiral. There, not far out, between Guernsey and Jersey, was the squadron itself. Guida watched it for a long while, her heart hardening; but seeing that the men by the signal-staff were watching her, she took the child and went to a spot where they were shielded from any eyes. Here she watched the fleet draw nearer and nearer.
The vessels passed almost within a stone’s throw of her. She could see the St. George’s Cross flying at the fore of the largest ship. That was the admiral’s flag—that was the flag of Admiral Prince Philip d’Avranche, Duc de Bercy.
She felt her heart stand still suddenly, and with a tremor, as of fear, she gathered her child close to her. “What is all those ships, maman?” asked the child. “They are ships to defend Jersey,” she said, watching the Imperturbable and its flotilla range on.
“Will they affend us, maman?”
“Perhaps-at the last,” she said.