"The prince will probably put you
ashore somewhere--I'll beg him to do that. He'll be better natured
after--after the happy event," she laughed. "Perhaps, he'll even slip a
little purse into your pocket though you did hurt a few of his men. Not
that he cares much for them--mere serfs. You could find a little
consolation, eh? With a bottle, perhaps. Besides, I have heard these
island girls have bright eyes." He could not speak. "Are you adamant,
save for one?" she mocked. "Content yourself with what must be. It is a
good match for her. The little fool might scour the world for a better
one. As for you--your crazy infatuation--what have you to offer? _Tres
drole!_ Do dog-tenders mate with such as she? No; destiny says to her,
be a grand lady at the court of Petersburg. I am doing her a great
favor. Many American families would pay me well, I tell you--"

She paused. "You will smile at it all, some day, my friend. You played
and lost. At least, it was daringly done. You deceived even me over the
telephone. 'Go to sleep,' forsooth! You commanded in a right princely
tone. And I obeyed."

An instant her hand lingered once more near the bandage. It was
ridiculous, that tentative, almost sympathetic touch. Then, she--a
figment of disordered imagination--receded; there was no doubt about his
light-headedness now.

They sent again bread and water, and, after what seemed an intolerable
interval, he found himself eating with zest; he was exceedingly hungry.
He also began to feel mentally normal, although his thoughts were the
reverse of agreeable. Days had, no doubt, gone by. He chafed at this
enforced inaction, but sometimes through sheer weariness fell into a
semblance of natural sleep despite the sitting posture he was obliged to
maintain. On one such occasion he was abruptly awakened by a light
thrown suddenly on his face. He would have started to his feet but the
fetters restrained him.

It was night; a lantern, held by a hand that shook slightly, revealed a
face he did not know. He felt assured, however, of his mental lucidity
at the moment. The new-comer, though a stranger, was undoubtedly flesh
and blood.

"What do you want?" said the prisoner.

"A word with you, Monsieur." The speaker had a smooth face and dark
soulful eyes. His manner was both furtive and constrained. He looked
around as if uncomfortable at finding himself in that place.

"Well, I guess you can have it. I can't get away," muttered the manacled
ma