refugees from the South
American republics, parasites from the coast cities or vagabonds from
the inland forests, had grouped itself around her. At their head, as
message-bearer for the doctor, was Karl, the secretary that Ferragut
had seen in the great old house of the district of Chiaja.

This man, in spite of his oily aspect, had several bloody crimes in his
life history. He was a worthy superintendent of the group of
adventurers inflamed by patriotic enthusiasm who were forwarding
supplies to the submarines in the Spanish Mediterranean. They all knew
Captain Ferragut, because of the affair at Marseilles, and they were
talking about his person with gloomy reticence.

"Through them I learned of your arrival," she continued. "They are
spying upon you, waiting for a favorable moment. Who knows if they have
not already followed you here?... Ulysses, flee; your life is seriously
threatened."

The captain again shrugged his shoulders with an expression of disgust.

"Flee, I repeat it!... And if you can, if I arouse in you a little
compassion, if you are not completely indifferent to me ... take me
with you!..."

Ferragut began to wonder if all this preamble was merely a prelude to
this final request. The unexpected demand produced an impression of
scandalized amazement. Was he to flee with her, with the one who had
done him so much harm?... Again unite his life to hers, knowing her as
he now knew her!...

The proposition was so absurd that the captain smiled sardonically.

"I am just as much in danger as you are," continued Freya with a
despairing accent. "I do not know exactly what the danger is that
threatens me, nor whence it may come. But I suspect it, I foresee it
hanging over my head.... I am of absolutely no use to them now; I no
longer have their confidence, and I know too many things. Since I
possess too many secrets for them to give me up, leaving me in peace,
they have agreed to suppress me; I am sure of that. I can read it in
the eyes of the one who was my friend and protector.... You cannot
abandon me, Ulysses. You will not desire my death."

Ferragut waxed indignant before these supplications, finally breaking
his disdainful silence.

"Comedienne!... All a lie!... Inventions to entangle yourself with me,
making me intervene again in the network of your life, compromising me
again in your work of detestable surveillance!..."

He was now taking the right path. His desire for vengeance had placed
h