“They declare, sir,” he is saying, “that I am not the celebrated Mr. Adams; that I am a cipher, a fanatic and a bigot.” Doctor Franklin laughs. “What harm is there in the French papers, sir?” he returns. “Give them no heed, sir, give them no heed!” Madame Brillon makes preparations to depart; Madame Houdetot, Mrs. Adams and the rest adopt her example. And still the girl-Duchess holds Captain Paul Jones to herself: “I am to have one evening--one before you go?” she pleads; and her tones are a woman’s tones and deeply wistful; and are not in any respect the tones of a Bourbon. “One evening? You shall have every evening--ay! and every day.” “Remember!” and as she makes ready to go the girl-Duchess takes firmer command of her manner and her voice; “remember! You have promised to lay an English frigate at my feet.” “That I shall do; or lay my bones away in the Atlantic!” The girl-Duchess shivers at this picture, and as though for reassurance steals her slim hand into his. “Not that!” she pleads. His strong brown fingers close courageously on the slender ones. “I cannot bear the thought! In victory or defeat, come back!” Then, sighing rather than saying: “Come back to me--my untitled knight of the sea!” CHAPTER XIV--THE SAILING OF THE “RICHARD” Captain Paul Jones goes down to l’Orient to begin the overhaul and refit of the _Richard_. The ship is twenty years old, and he finds it shaken and worn by time and weather. It is not a good ship, not a ship on which a prudent commander would care to stake his life and reputation; but it is the best he can get, and Captain Paul Jones accepts it, shrugging his shoulders. He has been so beaten upon by disappointments, so carked and rusted by delays, since his old ship _Ranger_ spread its sails for home, and left him as it were an exile on French shores, that rather than further endure such heart-eating experiences he is ready to embrace the desperate. As the work of refitting progresses, Doctor Franklin comes over from Passy. “The ship is old, Doctor,” says Captain Paul Jones, as he and Doctor Franklin canvass the situation. “That, however, is the least of my troubles. What causes me most uneasiness is the crew. Out of a whole muster of three hundred and seventy-five, no more than fifty are Americans.” “Then you do not trust the French? Surely you don’t mean to say they are not brave men?” “Brave enough--the French; but that is not the point. They are not good water fighters. By nature they are too hysterical, too easily excited, to both sail and fight a ship. Those English whom we go to meet are born water dogs, stubborn and cool; and the only ones afloat who, man for man, may match them are Americans.” “And of Americans you have but fifty?” “Only fifty.” Then, with a heartfelt oath: “I would give my left hand to have back my old crew of the _Ranger_.”