The ledge of Aventura also appeared to interest the count greatly.

“You certainly know the sea well,” he said in an approving tone.

Ferragut was about to go on talking when the two ladies entered with a tray which contained the tea service and various plates of cakes.  The captain saw nothing strange in their lack of servants.  The doctor and her friend were to him a pair of women of extraordinary customs, and so he thought all their acts were logical and natural.  Freya served the tea with modest grace as though she were the daughter of the house.

They passed the rest of the afternoon conversing on distant voyages.  Nobody alluded to the war, nor to Italy’s problem at that moment as to whether she should maintain or break her neutrality.  They appeared to be living in an inaccessible place thousands of leagues from all human bustle.

The two women were treating the count with the well-bred familiarity of persons in the same rank of life, but at times the sailor fancied that he noted that they were afraid of him.

At the end of the afternoon this personage arose and Ferragut did the same, understanding that he was expected to bring his visit to an end.  The count offered to accompany him.  While he was bidding the doctor good-by, thanking her with extreme courtesy for having introduced him to the captain, Ferragut felt that Freya was clasping his hand in a meaning way.

“Until to-night,” she murmured lightly, hardly moving her lips.  “I shall see you later....  Expect me.”

Oh, what happiness!...  The eyes, the smile, the pressure of her hand were telling him much more than that.

Never did he take such an agreeable stroll as when walking beside Kaledine through the streets of Chiaja toward the shore.  What was that man saying?...  Insignificant things in order to avoid silence, but to him they appeared to be observations of most profound wisdom.  His voice sounded musical and affectionate.  Everything about them seemed equally agreeable,—­the people who were passing through the streets, the Neapolitan sounds at nightfall, the dark seas, the entire life.

They bade each other good-by before the door of the hotel.  The count, in spite of his offers of friendship, went away without mentioning his address.

“It doesn’t matter,” thought Ferragut.  “We shall meet again in the doctor’s house.”

He passed the rest of his watch agitated alternately by hope and impatience.  He did not wish to eat; emotion had paralyzed his appetite....  And yet, once seated at the table, he ate more than ever with a mechanical and distraught avidity.

He needed to stroll around, to talk with somebody, in order that time might fly by with greater rapidity, beguiling his uneasy wait.  She would not return to the hotel until very late....  And he therefore retired to his room earlier than usual, believing with illogical superstition that by so doing Freya might arrive earlier.