“You see now,” said Detricand, “that though it was my will to die fighting your army in the last trench—”
“Alone, I fear,” interjected Grandjon-Larisse with curt admiration.
“My duty and my purpose go elsewhere,” continued Detricand. “They take me to Jersey. And yours, monsieur?”
Grandjon-Larisse beat his foot impatiently on the floor. “For the moment I cannot stir in this, though I would give my life to do so,” he answered bitterly. “I am but now recalled to Paris by the Directory.”
He stopped short in his restless pacing and held out his hand.
“We are at one,” he said—“friends in this at least. Command me when and how you will. Whatever I can I will do, even at risk and peril. The English brigand!” he added bitterly. “But for this insult to my blood, to the noble Chantavoine, he shall pay the price to me—yes, by the heel of God!”
“I hope to be in Jersey three days hence,” said Detricand.
CHAPTER XXXIX
The bell on the top of the Cohue Royale clattered like the tongue of a scolding fishwife. For it was the fourth of October, and the opening of the Assise d’Heritage.