of cakes. The
captain saw nothing strange in their lack of servants. The doctor and
her friend were to him a pair of women of extraordinary customs, and so
he thought all their acts were logical and natural. Freya served the
tea with modest grace as though she were the daughter of the house.

They passed the rest of the afternoon conversing on distant voyages.
Nobody alluded to the war, nor to Italy's problem at that moment as to
whether she should maintain or break her neutrality. They appeared to
be living in an inaccessible place thousands of leagues from all human
bustle.

The two women were treating the count with the well-bred familiarity of
persons in the same rank of life, but at times the sailor fancied that
he noted that they were afraid of him.

At the end of the afternoon this personage arose and Ferragut did the
same, understanding that he was expected to bring his visit to an end.
The count offered to accompany him. While he was bidding the doctor
good-by, thanking her with extreme courtesy for having introduced him
to the captain, Ferragut felt that Freya was clasping his hand in a
meaning way.

"Until to-night," she murmured lightly, hardly moving her lips. "I
shall see you later.... Expect me."

Oh, what happiness!... The eyes, the smile, the pressure of her hand
were telling him much more than that.

Never did he take such an agreeable stroll as when walking beside
Kaledine through the streets of Chiaja toward the shore. What was that
man saying?... Insignificant things in order to avoid silence, but to
him they appeared to be observations of most profound wisdom. His voice
sounded musical and affectionate. Everything about them seemed equally
agreeable,--the people who were passing through the streets, the
Neapolitan sounds at nightfall, the dark seas, the entire life.

They bade each other good-by before the door of the hotel. The count,
in spite of his offers of friendship, went away without mentioning his
address.

"It doesn't matter," thought Ferragut. "We shall meet again in the
doctor's house."

He passed the rest of his watch agitated alternately by hope and
impatience. He did not wish to eat; emotion had paralyzed his
appetite.... And yet, once seated at the table, he ate more than ever
with a mechanical and distraught avidity.

He needed to stroll around, to talk with somebody, in order that time
might fly by with greater rapidity, beguiling his uneasy wait. She
would not return