All the time he had been speaking she had shown
signs of recovery. She was smiling now, faintly and with obvious effort,
but still smiling.

"It is altogether my own fault, Baron," she admitted, graciously.
"Please forgive my little fit of emotion. The subject is a very sore one
among my countrypeople, and your sudden mention of it upset me. It was
very foolish."

"Duchesse, I was a clumsy idiot!" Peter declared, penitently. "I deserve
that you should be unkind to me for the rest of the voyage."

"I could not afford that," she answered, forcing another smile. "I am
relying too much upon you for companionship. Ah! could I trouble you?"
she added. "For the moment I need my maid. She passes there."

Peter sprang up and called the young woman, who was slowly pacing the
deck. He himself did not at once return to his place. He went instead in
search of Sogrange, and found him in his stateroom. Sogrange was lying
upon a couch, in a silk smoking suit, with a French novel in his hand
and an air of contentment which was almost fatuous. He laid down the
volume at Peter's entrance.

"Dear Baron," he murmured, "why this haste! No one is ever in a hurry
upon a steamer. Remember that we can't possibly get anywhere in less
than eight days, and there is no task in the world, nowadays, which
cannot be accomplished in that time. To hurry is a needless waste
of tissue, and, to a person of my nervous temperament, exceedingly
unpleasant."

Peter sat down on the edge of the bunk.

"I presume you have quite finished?" he said. "If so, listen to me. I
am moving in the dark. Is it my fault that I blunder? By the merest
accident I have already committed a hideous faux pas. You ought to have
warned me."

"What do you mean?"

"I have spoken to the Duchesse of the Maine disaster."

The eyes of Sogrange gleamed for a moment, but he lay perfectly still.

"Why not?" he asked. "A good many people are talking about it. It is one
of the strangest things I have ever heard of, that after all these years
they should be trying to salve the wreck."

"It seems worse than strange," Peter declared. "What can be the use of
trying to stir up bitter feelings between two nations who have fought
their battles and buried the hatchet? I call it an act of insanity."

A bugle rang. Sogrange yawned and sat up.

"Would you mind touching the bell for my servant, Baron," he asked.
"Dinner will be served in half an hour. Afterwards, we will talk, you
and I."