“Your love is like your ship, my friend,” she observes. “It goes voyaging from heart to heart, as the other does from port to port. No, not a word! I promise that you shall not break my heart. Come, I will show you what makes me safe--safe even from that terrible heart-rover and sea-rover, that buccaneer of the ocean and of love, the invincible Paul Jones.” She smiles; but there is that about the smile which reminds one of the hard glitter of a rapier. She rings a bell, says a low word, and presently a little round-faced boy is brought in. He is the baby son of the Duchess. Commodore Paul Jones has heard of the little boy; but this is his earliest glimpse of him. He is a handsome child, and Commodore Paul Jones gazes upon him with admiration. The boy is to grow up and, fifty years later, sit on the French throne as the “Citizen King.” This, however, is a secret of the future, and neither the mother nor Commodore Paul Jones, as they look on the small, round face, is granted a least glint of it. Released by the nurse, little Louis Philippe toddles across to Commodore Paul Jones, pudgy hands outstretched. The latter catches him up and kisses him. At this the eyes of the Duchess soften with mother-love. “See!” she remarks, and a sigh and a laugh struggle for precedence on her lips--“See! he is like all of us. He loves you!” She becomes grave. “There is my resource!” she goes on. “My friend, I will let you into a secret. No man’s treason, not though he be the bewildering Paul Jones”--this with a tinge of wicked emphasis--“can break a mother’s heart. No; she takes refuge in her child, and finds his kisses sweeter than a lover’s.” She takes the boy out of his hands, and kisses the little face again and still again. Commodore Paul Jones says no word of protest, explanation or defence. The Duchess is taking her revenge; he knows it, and thinks her entitled to it. Moreover, he is beginning in his own heart to be relieved, and the guilty feeling that gnaws his conscience is sensibly dulled. The nurse returns and takes the boy. The Duchess gives the little face a last kiss. Then her glance comes back to Commodore Paul Jones. “Yes, my friend,” she says; “love your red-haired Aimee, since you love her; I can give you up; for even though you leave me, you leave me a Bourbon. And yet I feel a small jealousy--just a little stab! For that stab, my friend, you must pay. No one harms a Bourbon, and escapes unpunished.” This is said half quizzically, half seriously. “Yes, I shall have my revenge. I intend that you shall marry Aimee.” CHAPTER XXIII--THE WEDDING WITHOUT BELLS Doctor Franklin journeys down to Lyons, on some secret errand of his own; he will be gone a week. Commodore Paul Jones, at home with the good Marsan, drunk with love, forgets the blue of the ocean in the blue of Aimee’s eyes. One sun-filled afternoon he is disturbed by Lieutenant Dale, who stalks in with a scowl on his usually steady face.