"On the Isle of Jersey, monseigneur."
The petulant look passed immediately from the face of the Duke; the horizon was clear at once.
"Ah, then, you are French, monsieur!"
"My flag is the English flag; I was born a British subject, and I shall die one," answered the other steadily.
"The sentiment sounds estimable," answered the Duke; "but as for life and death, and what we are or what we may be, we are the sport of Fate." His brow clouded. "I myself was born under a monarchy; I shall probably die under a Republic. I was born a Frenchman; I may die—"
His tone had become low and cynical, and he broke off suddenly, as though he had said more than he meant. "Then you are a Norman, monsieur," he added in a louder tone.
"Once all Jerseymen were Normans, and so were many Englishmen, monseigneur."
"I come of Norman stock too, monsieur," remarked the Duke graciously, yet eyeing the young man keenly.
"Monseigneur has not the kindred advantage of being English?" added the prisoner dryly.
The Duke protested with a deprecatory wave of the fingers and a flash of the sharp eyes, and then, after a slight pause, said: "What is your name, monsieur?"