This eBook was produced by David Widger
By Gilbert Parker
The bell on the top of the Cohue Royale clattered like the tongue of ascolding fishwife. For it was the fourth of October, and the opening ofthe Assise d'Heritage.
This particular session of the Court was to proceed with unusual spiritand importance, for after the reading of the King's Proclamation, theRoyal Court and the States were to present the formal welcome of theisland to Admiral Prince Philip d'Avranche, Duc de Bercy; likewise tooffer a bounty to all Jerseymen enlisting under him.
The island was en fete. There had not been such a year of sensationssince the Battle of Jersey. Long before chicane—chicane ceased clangingover the Vier Marchi the body of the Court was filled. The Governor, theBailly, the jurats, the seigneurs and the dames des fiefs, the avocatswith their knowledge of the ancient custom of Normandy and the deviousinroads made upon it by the customs of Jersey, the military, all were intheir places; the officers of the navy had arrived, all save one and hewas to be the chief figure of this function. With each arrival thepeople cheered and the trumpets blared. The islanders in the Vier Marchiturned to the booths for refreshments, or to the printing-machine set upnear La Pyramide, and bought halfpenny chapsheets telling of recentdefeats of the French; though mostly they told in ebullient words of thesea-fight which had made Philip d'Avranche an admiral, and of hiselevation to a sovereign dukedom. The crowds restlessly awaited hiscoming now.
Inside the Court there was more restlessness still. It was now manyminutes beyond the hour fixed. The Bailly whispered to the Governor, theGovernor to his aide, and the aide sought the naval officers present; butthese could give no explanation of the delay. The Comtesse Chantavoinewas in her place of honour beside the Attorney-General—but Prince Philipand his flag-lieutenant came not.
The Comtesse Chantavoine was the one person outwardly unmoved. What shethought, who could tell? Hundreds of eyes scanned her face, yet sheseemed unconscious of them, indifferent to them. What would not theBailly have given for her calmness! What would not the Greffier havegiven for her importance! She drew every eye by virtue of somethingwhich was more than the name of Duchesse de Bercy. The face, thebearing, had an unconscious dignity, a living command and composure: theheritage, perhaps, of a race ever more fighters than courtiers, ratherdesiring good sleep after good warfare than luxurious peace.
The silence, the tension grew painful. A whole half hour had the Courtwaited beyond its time. At last, however, cheers arose outside, and allknew that the Prince was coming. Presently the doors were thrown open,two halberdiers stepped inside, and an officer of the Court announcedAdmiral his Serene Highness Prince Philip d'Avranche, Duc de Bercy.
"Oui-gia, think of that!" said a voice from somewhere in the hall.
Philip heard it, and he frowned, for he recognised Dormy Jamais's voice.Where it came from he knew not, nor did any one; for the daft one wassnugly bestowed above a middle doorway in what was half balcony, halfcornice.
When Philip had taken his place beside the Comtesse Chantavoine, came theformal opening of the Cour d'Heritage.
The Comtesse's eyes fixed themselves upon Philip. There was that in hismanner which puzzled and evaded her clear intuition