se?"

"Certainly."

Roland went on: "And in that way you will not lose sight of us among
the crowd which throngs the breakwater when the great liners sail. It
is impossible to distinguish your own friends in the mob. Does that meet
your views?"

"Yes, to be sure; that is settled."

An hour later he was lying in his berth--a little crib as long and
narrow as a coffin. There he remained with his eyes wide open for a long
time, thinking over all that had happened during the last two months of
his life, especially in his own soul. By dint of suffering and making
others suffer, his aggressive and revengeful anguish had lost its edge,
like a blunted sword. He scarcely had the heart left in him to owe any
one or anything a grudge; he let his rebellious wrath float away
down stream, as his life must. He was so weary of wrestling, weary of
fighting, weary of hating, weary of everything, that he was quite worn
out, and tried to stupefy his heart with forgetfulness as he dropped
asleep. He heard vaguely, all about him, the unwonted noises of the
ship, slight noises, and scarcely audible on this calm night in port;
and he felt no more of the dreadful wound which had tortured him
hitherto, but the discomfort and strain of its healing.

He had been sleeping soundly when the stir of the crew roused him.
It was day; the tidal train had come down to the pier bringing the
passengers from Paris. Then he wandered about the vessel among all
these busy, bustling folks inquiring for their cabins, questioning
and answering each other at random, in the scare and fuss of a voyage
already begun. After greeting the Captain and shaking hands with his
comrade the purser, he went into the saloon where some Englishmen were
already asleep in the corners. The large low room, with its white marble
panels framed in gilt beading, was furnished with looking-glasses,
which prolonged, in endless perspective, the long tables, flanked by
pivot-seats covered with red velvet. It was fit, indeed, to be the
vast floating cosmopolitan dining-hall, where the rich natives of two
continents might eat in common. Its magnificent luxury was that of great
hotels, and theatres, and public rooms; the imposing and commonplace
luxury which appeals to the eye of the millionaire.

The doctor was on the point of turning into the second-class saloon,
when he remembered that a large cargo of emigrants had come on board
the night before, and he went down to the lower deck. He