O good old man; how well in thee appears      The constant service of the antique world
     When service sweat for duty, not for need!
 
     Thou art not for the fashion of these times
     Where none will sweat but for promotion¹;
     And having that, do choice their service up
     Even with the having: it is not so with thee.
 
     Shakespeare.
Although our readers must readily comprehend, after that which we have just related to them, all that had passed in the six months during which we had lost sight of our heroes, some details are, however, necessary, in order that they should fully² understand the new events about to be accomplished³.
 
On the evening after the combat between the Indienne and the Drake, and which, notwithstanding our ignorance in naval⁵ matters, we have attempted to describe to our readers, Lusignan had related to Paul the history of his whole life. It was a very simple one, and contained but few incidents. Love had formed the principal event in it, and after having been its only joy, it had become its greatest grief. The adventurous⁶ and independent life of Paul, his station, which had placed him beyond the trammels of society, his caprice which was superior to all laws, his habit of supreme⁷ command on board his own ship, had inspired him with too just a sense of natural rights to obey the order he had received with regard to Lusignan. Moreover, although he had anchored under the French flag, Paul, as we have seen, belonged to the navy of America, whose cause he had enthusiastically espoused⁸. He continued, therefore, his cruise along the shores of England; but finding there was nothing to be done on the sea he landed at Whitehaven, a small port in Cumberland, at the head of twenty men, among whom was Lusignan, took the fort, spiked⁹ the guns, and put to sea again, after having burnt the merchant vessels¹⁰ in the roads. Thence he sailed for the coast of Scotland, with the intention of carrying off the Earl of Selkirk and taking him as a hostage to the United States; but this project had miscarried from an unforeseen circumstance, that nobleman having unexpectedly gone to London. In this enterprise, as in the other, Lusignan had seconded him with the courage we have seen him exhibit in the battle between the Indienne and the Drake; so that Paul congratulated himself more than ever upon the chance which had enabled him to oppose an injustice¹¹. But it was not enough that he had saved Lusignan from transportation, it was necessary to restore his honor, and to our young adventurer, in whom our readers will doubtless have recognised the celebrated¹² privateersman, Paul Jones, it was a more easy matter than to any other person; for having letters of marque from Louis XVI., against the English, he had to repair to Versailles to give an account of his cruize.
 
Paul determined¹⁴ upon running into Lorient, and for the second time cast anchor there, that he might be within a short distance of the Chateau¹⁵ d’Auray. The first answer which the young men received to their enquiries regarding that family, was that Marguerite d’Auray was about to be married to M. do Lectoure. Lusignan thought himself’ forgotten, and in the first paroxysm of his despair, insisted, even at the risk of falling into the hands of his former persecutors, on once more seeing Marguerite, if it were only to reproach her for infidelity; but Paul, more calm and less credulous¹⁶, made him pledge his word that he would not land until he had heard from him; then, being assured that the marriage would not take place in less than fifteen days, he set out for Paris, and was received by the king, who presented him with a sword, the hilt of which was of gold, and decorated him with the order of military merit. Paul had availed himself of the kindness of the king towards him to relate to him Lusignan’s adventures, and had obtained not only his pardon, but also as a reward for his late services, the appointment of Governor of Guadaloupe. All these cares had not prevented him from keeping sight of Emanuel. Being informed of the count’s intended departure, he left Paris, and having written to Lusignan, appointing a place of meeting, he arrived at Auray an hour after the young count.
 
After their joyful¹⁷ meeting, Paul and Lusignan remained together until nearly twilight¹⁸. Then Paul, who, as he had told Emanuel, had a personal revelation to receive, left his friend and again took the road to Auray. But this time he was on foot, and did not enter the castle, but going along the park wall, he directed his steps toward an iron gate which opened into a wood belonging to the domains¹⁹ of Auray.
 
About an hour before Paul left the fisherman’s hut, where he had found Lusignan, a person had preceded him on the road toward the cottage at which he was to ask the revelation of the secret of his birth; that person was the Marchioness d’Auray, the haughty²⁰ heiress of the name of Sable²¹. She was attired²² in her usual mourning garments with the addition of a long black veil, which enveloped²³ her from head to foot. Moreover, the habitation which our young adventurer, with the hesitation²⁴ of ignorance, was seeking for, was to her familiar. It was a sort of keeper’s house, situated²⁵ at a few paces from the entrance to the park, and inhabited by an old man, in whose behalf the Marchioness d’Auray had for twenty years fulfilled one of those acts of sedulous²⁶ benevolence²⁷ which had gained for her in that part of Lower Brittany, the reputation of rigid²⁸ holiness which she enjoyed. These attentions to age were given, it is true, with the same gloomy and solemn face which we have observed in her, and which the tender emotions of pity never softened²⁹; but they were nevertheless afforded, and all knew it, with careful punctuality.
 
The face of the Marchioness d’Auray was even more grave than it was wont³⁰ to be, while she crossed the park to repair to the dwelling³¹ of a man who was said to be an old servant of the family. The door was standing⁴ open as if to allow the last rays of the setting sun to penetrate³² into the house, so sweet and balmy to old people in the month of May. The house was however empty. The Marchioness d’Auray entered it, looked around her, and then as if certain that the person she was in search of would not be long absent, she resolved to await his return. She sat down. She had remained there about half an hour, motionless and absorbed in her reflections, when she saw, between her and the declining daylight, a shadow cast before the door. She slowly raised her eyes and recognised the person she had been expecting. They both started as though they had met by chance, and were not in the habit of seeing each other every day.
 
“It is you, Achard,” said the marchioness, who was the first to speak. “I have been waiting for you half an hour. Where can you have been?”
 
“Had your ladyship walked fifty paces farther, you would have found me under the large oak, on the edge of the forest.”
 
“You know I never walk that way,” said the marchioness, with a visible shudder³³.
 
“And you are wrong, madam; there is one in heaven who has a right to our joint³⁴ prayers, and who, perhaps, is astonished to hear only those of old Achard.”
 
“And how know you that I do not also pray?” said the marchioness, with a certain degree of feverish³⁵ ............