u want," said he, "_La Belle Arlesienne_, no, it is no
use, I have something better, a good cruising boat--you say money is no
object."

"None."

"Then come with me, you two."

He led the way followed by Raft and the girl to a wharf where a tug lay
moored and by the tug a fifty ton yawl.

"There's your boat," said Bontemps, "built by Pinoli of Genoa for an
American. She has even a bath-room--a main cabin with two cabins off it,
your man could berth in the fo'c'sle which is big enough for twenty like
him. Follow me."

He led the way on to the deck of the yawl.

The girl went over it down below into the main cabin with two little
sleeping cabins off it. She peeped into the tiny bath-room, examined the
pantry well-stored with crockeryware, there was everything even to the
bunk bedding, sheets and towels, she went to the fo'c'sle; compared with
the fo'c'sle of the _Albatross_ it was a little palace.

Then she turned to Raft.

"This is your new home," said she, "there is room for your parrot here."
Then turning to Captain Bontemps. "Well, that is settled and now I only
want a crew and a captain--fishermen. I will have no yachtsmen on my
boat. I have had to do with yachtsmen, Captain Bontemps."

"Oh, my faith," said the old fellow, "you will easily find a crew."

"Yes, but I won't easily find a captain. I want you."

The Captain laughed.

"And how about _La Belle Arlesienne_?" asked he.

"You must leave her behind you to be sold. In my service money is no
object. Now as to this boat, who is the agent from whom I can buy her?"

"Latour and Company," replied the old fellow, for the first time in his
life in the powerful grip of wealth and not knowing exactly whether the
great golden hand was holding him heels or head up.

"How far is Latour's from here?"

"Not far."

The girl stood for a moment looking round her at the white deck, the
masts, the rigging, and as she looked some hand seemed to draw aside a
veil revealing the stupid immovable houses of the land filled with
stupid immovable people bound and tied up by soul-killing
conventions--and on the other hand the old mystery of ships, those homes
of Freedom on the road that has no boundaries.

Then she turned to Bontemps.

"Come," said she, "let us go to Latour's."

* * * * *

"Cleo," said the distracted Madame de Brie, writing to a friend, "Cleo
must always have been as mad as her aunt De Warens. Fishermen, it
seems,