Philip d'Auvergne, titular Prince de Bouillon and captain in the British Navy, received the Chevalier de la Vireville rather petulantly in the little house which he inhabited under the shadow of the half-ruined castle of Montorgueil, over at Gorey. He was a good-looking, florid man of one-and-forty, somewhat overfond of surrounding with circumstance the title which had so strangely descended upon him, and converted an unknown naval officer of Jersey into a French prince of the house of Turenne--deprived, it is true, of his principality by the Revolution--while leaving him all the while a British subject. At heart he was generous and loyal. "What the devil is this I hear about a wild-goose chase to France after a little boy, M. de la Vireville?" he began angrily. "Is this the meaning of your being so long overdue? I wanted you yesterday to land a party of émigrés near Cancale, and I had to employ Chateaubriand instead." "Permit me to observe to your Highness," returned the culprit coolly, "that I am not, at this moment, disposed to lend my services to that side of the correspondence. My men in my own command have a prior claim on my attention just now." "I am glad you realise that, Monsieur," retorted the Prince rather tartly. "Yet the muskets and ammunition have been waiting for them nearly a week." La Vireville gave his shoulders a slight shrug. "The delay was unavoidable, mon Prince," he said, wondering whether it were the hot room which was making his head ache so. "I am ready to superintend the landing of that cargo whenever you please." The Prince seem mollified. "Good," he remarked. "Sit down, M. de la Vireville, and before we go into details over that affair I will tell you an important piece of news. . . . You have nothing serious the matter with your head, I trust?" "Nothing," the émigré assured him, as, half expecting that he was going to be told about the Carhoët command, he took a seat opposite Captain d'Auvergne at the big table, strewn with maps and papers. "His Majesty's Government," went on the Prince, bringing out the words as if their utterance gave him pleasure, "have decided to support a Royalist expedition this summer to the coast of France, to land perhaps in Southern Brittany, perhaps in Vendée. You could co-operate with your Chouans, I suppose?" "A little while ago, mon Prince," replied La Vireville, "I should have said No. But, having already heard of the likelihood of such a step, I took the opportunity of sounding my men on the point yesterday--by which your Highness sees that my delay has not been without fruit. And I am now convinced that I could, with some difficulty, get them to follow me to Finistère or Morbihan, but south of the Loire, no. They would never leave Brittany."