Never had Ferragut had such a propitious occasion.  It was a trysting-place in the mystery of the night with plenty of time ahead of them.  The only trouble was the necessity of walking on, of accompanying his embraces and protests of love with the incessant activity of walking.  She protested, coming out from her rapture every time that the enamored man would propose that they sit down on the side of the road.

Hope made Ulysses very obedient to Freya, desirous of reaching Naples as soon as possible.  Down there in the curve of the light near the gulf was the hotel, and the sailor looked upon it as a place of happiness.

“Say yes,” he murmured in her ear, punctuating his words with kisses, “say that it will be to-night!...”

She did not reply, leaning on the arm that the captain had passed around her waist, letting herself be dragged along as if she were half-fainting, rolling her eyes and offering her lips.

While Ulysses was repeating his pleadings and caresses the voice in his brain was chanting victoriously, “Here it is!...  It’s settled now....  The thing now is to get her to the hotel.”

They roamed on for nearly an hour, fancying that only a few minutes had passed by.

Approaching the gardens of the Villa Nazionale, near the Aquarium, they stopped an instant.  There were fewer people and more life here than in the road to Posilipo.  They avoided the electric lights of the Via Caracciolo reflected in the sea,—­the two instinctively approaching a bench, and seeking the ebony shade of the trees.

Freya had suddenly become very composed.  She appeared annoyed at herself for her languor during the walk.  Finding herself near the hotel, she recovered her energy as though in the presence of danger.

“Good-by, Ulysses!  We shall see each other again to-morrow....  I am going to pass the night in the doctor’s home.”

The sailor withdrew a little in the shock of surprise.  “Was it a jest?...”  But no, he could not think that.  The very tone of her words displayed firm resolution.

He entreated her humbly with a thick and threatening voice not to go away.  At the same time his mental counselor was rancorously chanting, “She’s making a fool of you!...  It’s time to put an end to all this....  Make her feel your masculine authority.”  And this voice had the same ring as that of the dead Triton.

Suddenly occurred a violent, brutal, dishonorable thing.  Ulysses threw himself upon her as though he Were going to kill her, holding her tightly in his arms, and the two fell upon the bench, panting and struggling.  But this only lasted an instant.

The vigorous Ferragut, trembling with emotion, was only using half of his powers.  He suddenly sprang back, raising his two hands to his shoulders.  He felt a sharp pain, as though one of his bones had just broken.  She had repelled him with a certain Japanese fencing trick that employs the hands as irresistible weapons.