Terence O'Rourke, Gentleman Adventurer
empire, was over-hasty in jumping ashore. He slipped, stumbled, plunged forward with wildly grasping hands.
"An omen!" he whimpered, turning toward O'Rourke, when by his aid he had regained balance. His countenance had lost its proud smile; he seemed a very child to O'Rourke—a child frightened by the darkness or by an old woman's tale. His lip trembled, his eyes were filled with dread as with tears; he quivered with a sort of terror.
"An omen!" he repeated piteously. "An inauspicious omen!"
"Nonsense!" derided O'Rourke, moved by sudden compassion for the child. "Monsieur stumbled, it is true: the way to empire is not smooth. But he did not fall; he stands firmly on his feet. … I would ask monsieur not to forget by whose hand," he added, with meaning, yet laughing.
Lemercier brightened.
"I shall not forget, mon ami," he promised.
"The memory of monarchs is short," O'Rourke reminded himself, lest the promise should make him over-sanguine of the future.
Other boats followed, discharging their occupants, and returned to the Eirene for more; within a short time the toiling sailors at the oars had landed the expedition in its entirety.
So far there had been no demonstration.
Now Lemercier stood surrounded by his associates and friends—by no means to be confused. On the one hand, were Madame la Princesse—charming, beautiful, and distinguished, and utterly out of place in her Parisian summer gown—with O'Rourke and Chambret; on the other, Prince Felix, D'Ervy, Mouchon; and behind them all, in double rank, the forty troops commanded by Danny—all now neat
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