“I am Detricand, Prince of Vaufontaine,” he replied, “for whom the Comtesse Chantavoine will vouch,” he added in a pained voice, and bowed low to her and to Guida. “I am but this hour landed. I came to Jersey on this very matter.”
He did not wait for the Bailly to reply, but began to tell of the death of Lorenzo Dow, and, taking from his pocket the little black journal, opened it and read aloud the record written therein by the dead clergyman. Having read it, he passed it on to the Greffier, who handed it up to the Bailly. Another moment’s pause ensued. To the most ignorant and casual of the onlookers the strain was great; to those chiefly concerned it was supreme. The Bailly and the jurats whispered together. Now at last a spirit of justice was roused in them. But the law’s technicalities were still to rule.
The Bailly closed the book, and handed it back to the Greffier with the words: “This is not proof though it is evidence.”
Guida felt her heart sink within her. The Comtesse Chantavoine, who still held her hand, pressed it, though herself cold as ice with sickness of spirit.
At that instant, and from Heaven knows where—as a bird comes from a bush—a little grey man came quickly among them all, carrying spread open before him a book almost as big as himself. Handing it up to the Bailly, he said:
“Here is the proof, Monsieur le Bailly—here is the whole proof.”
The Bailly leaned over and drew up the book. The jurats crowded near and a dozen heads gathered about the open volume.
At last the Bailly looked up and addressed the Court solemnly.
“It is the lost register of St. Michael’s,” he said. “It contains the record of the marriage of Lieutenant Philip d’Avranche and Guida Landresse de Landresse, both of the Isle of Jersey, by special license of the Bishop of Winchester.”
“Precisely so, precisely so,” said the little grey figure—the Chevalier Orvillier du Champsavoys de Beaumanoir. Tears ran down his cheeks as he turned towards Guida, but he was smiling too.