"_If_ I love our James!" cried Mortimer, turning a deep and apoplectic red, "_if_ I love him! Hold! I and Dick Dudley, my best friend, who loves the duke, not as much as I (we fought once because he made this absurd claim)--I and Dudley, I tell you, asked each other just now if we should have the strength to again see our James without giving way--like silly women." "The duke was right," thought De Chemerant. "What enthusiasm! It is not attachment, it is frenzy." Mortimer resumed with vehemence: "This morning on rising we embraced each other; we committed a thousand extravagances on thinking we should see him again to-day. We could not believe it, and even yet I doubt it. Ah! what a day! what a day! To see again in flesh and blood a friend, a companion in arms whom we had believed dead, whom we had wept for for five years! Ah! you do not know how he was cherished and regretted, our James! How we recalled his bravery, his courage, his gayety! What happiness to say, not _it was_, but _it is_ the heart of a king, a true heart of a king, that of our duke." "It must be that this is true, my lord, since with the exception of yourself, of Lord Dudley, and this poor Lord Rothsay who, ill as he is from his old wounds, has chosen to accompany you, the other gentlemen who came to offer their arms, their lives and their fortunes to our duke, knew him only by reputation." "And I should like well to see if, on his renown alone, and on our guarantee, they would not love him as much as we love him. This recalls to me that once I fought my friend Dick Dudley because he vowed he loved me a little more than our James!" "The fact is, my lord," said De Chemerant, "that few princes are capable of inspiring such enthusiasm simply by their renown." "Few princes, sir!" cried Lord Mortimer in a formidable voice, "few princes! Say, then, no other prince--ask Dudley!" Lord Dudley appeared at this moment on the deck. The hair and mustache of this nobleman were black and beginning to turn gray; in stature, strength, and stoutness there was a great conformity between him and Mortimer; true types (physically speaking) of what are called gentlemen-farmers. "What's the matter, Percy?" said Lord Dudley familiarly to his friend. "Is it not true, Dick, that no prince can be compared with our James?" "Excepting our worthy friends and allies on this vessel, any dog who dares maintain that James is not the best of men I will beat him till the blood comes, and cut him in quarters," said this robust personage, striking with one of his fists the gunwale of the ship. Then, addressing De Chemerant: "But now you know him as well as we--you, the chosen you, the happy man who saw him first! Your hand, De Chemerant, your brave and loyal hand--more brave and more loyal, if it is possible, since it has touched that of our duke!" Dudley violently shook the right hand of De Chemerant, while Mortimer shook no less violently the left hand.