trying to keep my balance on that see-saw floor you would have wept tears of compassion."

"Crocodile tears, I fear," said Angelescu drily.

"Then they began holy-stoning the deck just as I had fallen asleep, and I had to begin all over again. I am convinced, Mademoiselle, that I was not born to sail the seas!"

Ragna laughed and sparkled; in the clear morning light, the vague distrust and fear of him, which had assailed her the evening before, seemed a ridiculous trick of the imagination and of a piece with her foolish dream. The man was simple, gay and straightforward enough now, in all conscience! His eyes, whose magnetic power had so troubled her the day before, now reflected nothing but merry good humour, as he gave his whimsical account of his night's experiences. He rattled along in a cheerful way, making them all laugh at his nonsense and merry conceits.

Captain Petersen lunched with the party, his jolly red face beaming like a rising sun. Ragna thought she had never laughed so much in all her life. When they had finished she fed the gulls again with the help of the Prince and Angelescu, who vied with each other in seeing who could toss the crumbs farthest. One large gull, an old white fellow, either stronger or more masterful than the others, was getting more than his share; he would wait until another bird had caught a crumb and would then bear down on him, wings spread, legs extended, and with wild squawks oblige the poor thing to drop the coveted morsel, whereupon he would pounce upon it and devour it, only to begin all over again. Ragna pointed him out to the men and the Prince nicknamed him "Napoleon."

It was very pleasant there in the stern. Ragna seated herself on a coil of rope in the shadow of a life-boat, and the men leaned lazily on the rail watching the exploits of "Napoleon." Angelescu had always a certain soldierly stiffness about him from his clear-cut face to his trim feet, suggestive of an uncompromising attitude of mind where honour or principle were involved. Prince Mirko was a picture of lazy, rather feline grace; not to be characterized as effeminate, he yet did not convey an impression of masculine supremacy, in spite of his broad shoulders and the insolent lift of his moustache; his eyes were too large, his hands and feet too small, his hair too silky, the symmetry of his shape too perfect. He looked more like some handsome arrogant animal than a man born to command men—yet there was no denying his distinction, he was undoubtedly a thoroughbred.

Presently they returned to the shade of the awning and the deck chairs, and the Prince drawing a notebook from his pocket, made little sketches of Ragna.

"I shall carry something of you with me when our ways part," he said.

Ragna felt much flattered and regretted that her list of accomplishments did not include drawing.

"But," she said, turning to Angelescu, who had sat a silent spectator, "you can draw, I am sure, will you not make me a little sketch?"

Angelescu would be delighted; he went to his cabin and returned with sketch book and pencil, and without more ado began work. Ragna wished to look over his shoulder, but he would not hear of it.

"You must be patient till I have finished, Mademoiselle, I am not as accomplished a draughtsman as the Prince, and I could not do anything if you watched me."

Finally he produced a very pretty little sketch, representing the rail at the stern, with the slender figure of a girl silhouetted against it, one arm flung out in the act of scattering crumbs. The action was spirited, the whole thing suggested by a few clear decisive strokes of the pencil. Ragna was delighted with it and begged leave to inspect the Count's sketch book; he refused in an embarrassed way, and the Prince, seeing an occasion to tease his friend, made as if to snatch at the book crying—

"Fie, how can you refuse a lady. What have you drawn that is so very, very naughty that it can't be seen? Out with it!"

As he spoke, his hand touched the book, and in his haste to withdraw it, Angelescu seized the upper cover. The book opened and two loose leaves fluttered out and fell at Ragna's feet. She picked them up to return to him, glancing at them involuntarily as she did so, and her attention was arrested. The first sketch was a portrait of herself, idealized, but an excellent likeness; the other was the Prince, also an admirable likeness, but conveying an impression of evil—not conscious evil, however, rather the face of a faun through whose eyes looked out a laughing fiend. Ragna shivered unconsciously and turned to the Prince, in whose good humoured countenance she failed to detect the slightest expression similar to that in the drawing.