René de Flavigny did not do that, but it was not for want of emotion, for his heart was swelling painfully as he stood at last on the earth that had borne him. "It is France, France!" he said to himself, hardly believing it. And then he was swallowed up in the intense excitement reigning on the beach, where two or three bands of the victorious Chouans had suddenly streamed down upon the regiments of the first detachment, embracing their compatriots and declaring that the whole countryside was theirs--and filling some of the correctly uniformed newcomers with surprise at their strange appearance. Even their officers were little better clad. De Flavigny's eyes lit upon one of these--a French gentleman from Jersey--and beheld a figure attired in a little green vest, short breeches of the same, with bare legs covered with mud, burst shoes, a three months' beard, and a perfect armoury of weapons. But where was Fortuné? Had he been delayed, or met with some mishap? And the scene became still more confused and further charged with emotions, for there were now arriving not Chouans, but the peaceful inhabitants of the districts round, bringing cattle, and carts loaded with provisions, and all eager to help disembark the ammunition and the cannon, and insisting on carrying through the water, on their shoulders, those émigrés who had not yet reached shore. The noise and tumult were indescribable, and at last, to complete the reception, there advanced on to the beach, singing as they came, a procession of priests preceded by crosses and the banners of their parishes. It was at these last that the Marquis was gazing, wondering for the first time why the saintly old Bishop of Dol, Monseigneur de Hercé, whom they had brought with them, had not been landed with his ecclesiastics, when a hand fell on his shoulder, and he found himself looking into the face of La Vireville, bronzed and not overclean, his hair falling loose on his shoulders in the Breton manner--differentiated indeed from his men only by his high boots and the white scarf that crossed his breast. De Flavigny seized him by the wrists. "At last, at last, I am able to thank you, Fortuné!" But the Chouan wrenched a hand free and put it over the Marquis's mouth. "Don't speak of that now, as you love me, René! It is past history, and we have more important matters to occupy us. And as for thanks, it is I who owe them to you, as responsible for the child's existence. . . . Is he well?" If the young man was not allowed to speak his thanks, he could look them, there on the sandy beach amid the excited throng, the east on fire with the coming day, and his friend's hand in his. "I was to tell you, if I had the chance to meet you, that he had got a new goldfish in place of the one he left at Canterbury, and that he hopes to show it to you--some day." La Vireville smiled. "He shall bring it to France."