The Emiral did not belong to the nobility.  A child of the people, he was loved by the people.  They were flattered to see a man who sprang from their own ranks holding a position of honour.  Chatillon was good-looking and fortune favoured him.  He was not over-addicted to thought.  No event ever disturbed his serene outlook.

The Reverend Father Agaric, surrendering to M. Bigourd’s reasons and recognising that the existing government could only be destroyed by one of its defenders, cast his eyes upon Emiral Chatillon.  He asked a large sum of money from his friend, the Reverend Father Cornemuse, which the latter handed him with a sigh.  And with this sum he hired six hundred butcher boys of Alca to run behind Chatillon’s horse and shout, “Hurrah for the Emiral!” Henceforth Chatillon could not take a single step without being cheered.

Viscountess Olive asked him for a private interview.  He received her at the Admiralty* in a room decorated with anchors, shells, and grenades.

     * Or better, Emiralty.

She was discreetly dressed in greyish blue.  A hat trimmed with roses covered her pretty, fair hair, Behind her veil her eyes shone like sapphires.  Although she came of Jewish origin there was no more fashionable woman in the whole nobility.  She was tall and well shaped; her form was that of the year, her figure that of the season.

“Emiral,” said she, in a delightful voice, “I cannot conceal my emotion from you. . . .  It is very natural . . . before a hero.”

“You are too kind.  But tell me, Viscountess, what brings me the honour of your visit.”

“For a long time I have been anxious to see you, to speak to you. . . .  So I very willingly undertook to convey a message to you.”

“Please take a seat.”

“How still it is here.”

“Yes, it is quiet enough.”

“You can hear the birds singing.”

“Sit down, then, dear lady.”

And he drew up an arm-chair for her.

She took a seat with her back to the light.

“Emiral, I came to bring you a very important message, a message. . .”

“Explain.”

“Emiral, have you ever seen Prince Crucho?”

“Never.”

She sighed.

“It is a great pity.  He would be so delighted to see you!  He esteems and appreciates you.  He has your portrait on his desk beside his mother’s.  What a pity it is he is not better known!  He is a charming prince and so grateful for what is done for him!  He will be a great king.  For he will be king without doubt.  He will come back and sooner than people think. . . .  What I have to tell you, the message with which I am entrusted, refers precisely to. . .”

The Emiral stood up.

“Not a word more, dear lady.  I have the esteem, the confidence of the Republic.  I will not betray it.  And why should I betray it?  I am loaded honours and dignities.”

“Allow me to tell you, my dear Emiral, that your honours and dignities are far from equalling what you deserve.  If your services were properly rewarded, you would be Emiralissimo and Generalissimo, Commander-in-chief of the troops both on land and sea.  The Republic is very ungrateful to you.”