“Do you tell me that Doctor Franklin asks you to sink the _Alliance_?” “He has asked us--for he had some inkling of the designs of Lee and Landais--to prevent them sailing away with the ship. We know of but one way to do that. We must sink it, since we have no ship here to arrest them. So we gave the orders to Thevenard. Those orders, however, we did not impart to Doctor Franklin; and, in good truth, I tell them to you now, not as a French official, but as a friend.” “This must be stopped!” cries Commodore Paul Jones, his habits of decision and iron promptitude reassumed in a moment. “What! Sink two hundred brave, good men, to punish a pair of traitors? Never!” Genet, who makes a cult of red tape, shrugs his shoulders and spreads his hands. “It is too late,” he says. “There is Doctor Franklin’s request. I cannot countermand the orders to Thevenard until he withdraws his request.” “I shall see Thevenard!” Two hundred and eighty miles in fifty-four hours! An unprecedented thing! And yet Commodore Paul Jones does it, and rides into l’Orient in time to prevail on General Thevenard, who is his friend and his worshipper, to let the _Alliance_ pass free. The forts would else have sunk the ship with their tons upon tons of metal. He saves the _Alliance_ by a narrow margin of hours, and Lee and Landais shake out their sails for America. “They go to disgrace and grief,” thinks Commodore Paul Jones, consoling himself for their escape. Then he considers how he has saved the lives of more than two hundred honest sailors, who have fought well for flag and country, and is consoled in earnest. Commodore Paul Jones is surrounded by surprises. He is met on the road, while returning to his Aimee, by a message from the Duchess de Chartres. “Come instantly to me!” it says. There is a look of mingled sorrow and resentment, with over all a hue of humor, on the Duchess’ bright face when she welcomes Commodore Paul Jones. “The Marchioness de Marsan and I have arranged it,” she says, and her glance is wicked and amused. “Arranged what?” “Your marriage, my friend! I congratulate you! You and your red-haired, blue-eyed one are to wed.” “With all my heart, then!” says he, turning wicked, too. Manlike, it offends his vanity that one who has pretended to love him so deeply should be now so ready to give him to another. “I could wish no fairer fate.” “But the wedding must be secret.” “Secret! Believe me, I shall tell all France.” “And ruin the blue-eyed one! Hear me, my Commodore--once my beloved, ever to be my friend! I have had a world of trouble in your affairs. I arranged with the Marsan; but only by agreeing that the marriage be buried in secrecy. You know much of the sea; little of the shore when all’s said. Should the king hear of Aimee as your wife, he would drive her from court.” “May I ask why!” and his cheek begins to burn angrily.