me gliding into the old harbour
so late that Dominic and I, making for the cafe kept by Madame Leonore,
found it empty of customers, except for two rather sinister fellows
playing cards together at a corner table near the door. The first thing
done by Madame Leonore was to put her hands on Dominic's shoulders and
look at arm's length into the eyes of that man of audacious deeds and
wild stratagems who smiled straight at her from under his heavy and, at
that time, uncurled moustaches.

Indeed we didn't present a neat appearance, our faces unshaven, with the
traces of dried salt sprays on our smarting skins and the sleeplessness
of full forty hours filming our eyes. At least it was so with me who saw
as through a mist Madame Leonore moving with her mature nonchalant grace,
setting before us wine and glasses with a faint swish of her ample black
skirt. Under the elaborate structure of black hair her jet-black eyes
sparkled like good-humoured stars and even I could see that she was
tremendously excited at having this lawless wanderer Dominic within her
reach and as it were in her power. Presently she sat down by us, touched
lightly Dominic's curly head silvered on the temples (she couldn't really
help it), gazed at me for a while with a quizzical smile, observed that I
looked very tired, and asked Dominic whether for all that I was likely to
sleep soundly to-night.

"I don't know," said Dominic, "He's young. And there is always the
chance of dreams."

"What do you men dream of in those little barques of yours tossing for
months on the water?"

"Mostly of nothing," said Dominic. "But it has happened to me to dream
of furious fights."

"And of furious loves, too, no doubt," she caught him up in a mocking
voice.

"No, that's for the waking hours," Dominic drawled, basking sleepily with
his head between his hands in her ardent gaze. "The waking hours are
longer."

"They must be, at sea," she said, never taking her eyes off him. "But I
suppose you do talk of your loves sometimes."

"You may be sure, Madame Leonore," I interjected, noticing the hoarseness
of my voice, "that you at any rate are talked about a lot at sea."

"I am not so sure of that now. There is that strange lady from the Prado
that you took him to see, Signorino. She went to his head like a glass
of wine into a tender youngster's. He is such a child, and I suppose
that I am another. Shame to confess it, the other morning I got a friend
to