Oh, if only some day his little son too could come back to the land of his fathers, in no hostile or furtive fashion, but openly, as of right--and if he might be with him too! Or might his own death avail, if need were, to bring Anne there before he grew old! Such was René de Flavigny's prayer in that speaking radiance. And the sight of that shore and the beauty of the night itself made him think also. If only one were not coming with a sword against one's mother! There stole back to him too the remembrance of the day when he had pointed out the oncoming shores of France to Jeannette--a bride--and then of the day when they had left them behind in their flight--the last time she was ever to see them. Yes, when last he had looked on France she had been in his arms, and Anne in hers. . . . De Flavigny's meditations were suddenly checked. Orders were being shouted; the boats came to a standstill on the silver tide. And, peering forward, René could make out the cause. Drawn up on the beach in the moonlight was a small body of Republican troops. Their white breeches and facings and cross-belts were clearly visible. Between the shore and the now stationary craft with their load were slipping the flotilla's half-dozen gunboats. "Oh, why are we not there!" sighed a young officer sitting by the Marquis, bringing his hand sharply down on his knee. But before the English sailors could fire a shot the Blues began to draw off in haste, and from the mainland behind them came the rattle of musketry. The Chouans there were evidently driving out the small Republican garrisons before them--sweeping the coast, in short, as they had undertaken. "First blood to the Bretons!" said the young officer, with envy in his tones. René felt some consolation in reflecting that La Vireville had probably had a share in that honour. He began to talk to his companion as the boats resumed their shoreward course. There was time enough indeed for any amount of conversation before either of them set foot on the beach, for the régiment du Dresnay was in the second detachment, and the first had yet to be landed--the regiment of Loyal-Emigrant, mostly veterans from Flanders, and d'Hervilly's own regiment, once Royal-Louis, the numbers of which had been made up, most unwisely, by drafts from the French Republican prisoners in England. But at last their turn came, and to cries of "Vive le Roi" and the roll of drums du Dresnay's colours were unfurled, and, when they were near enough, many an émigré jumped into the water and waded to land. In du Dresnay many were actually Bretons, and for them the shore in front of them was not only France, but their own sacred corner of France, and several of them, when they reached it, dropped on their knees and kissed the wet sand.