it possible that one who spoke with the ease and innocence of Raoul was inventing as he went along, it was an idea he was himself much too unpractised to entertain; and the very first thing he did on entering the palace was to make a memorandum which might lead him, at a leisure moment, to inquire into the nature of the writings and the general merits of Sir Cicero, the illustrious namesake of him of Rome.  As soon as this little digression terminated he entered the palace, after again expressing the hope that “Sir Smees” would not fail to accompany “Sir Brown,” in the visit which the functionary fully expected to receive from the latter, in the course of the next hour of two.  The company now began to disperse, and Raoul was soon left to his own meditations, which just at that moment were anything but agreeable.

The town of Porto Ferrajo is so shut in from the sea by the rock against which it is built, its fortifications, and the construction of its own little port, as to render the approach of a vessel invisible to its inhabitants, unless they choose to ascend to the heights and the narrow promenade already mentioned.  This circumstance had drawn a large crowd upon the hill again, among which Raoul Yvard now threaded his way, wearing his sea cap and his assumed naval uniform in a smart, affected manner, for he was fully sensible of all the advantages he possessed on the score of personal appearance.  His unsettled eye, however, wandered from one pretty face to another in quest of Ghita, who alone was the object of his search and the true cause of the awkward predicament into which he had brought not only himself, but le Feu-Follet.  In this manner, now thinking of her he sought, and then reverting to his situation in an enemy’s port, he walked along the whole line of the cliff, scarce knowing whether to return or to seek his boat by doubling on the town, when he heard his own name pronounced in a sweet voice which went directly to his heart.  Turning on his heel, Ghita was within a few feet of him.

“Salute me distantly and as a stranger,” said the girl, in almost breathless haste, “and point to the different streets, as if inquiring your way through the town.  This is the place where we met last evening; but, remember, it is no longer dark.”

As Raoul complied with her desire any distant spectator might well have fancied the meeting accidental, though he poured forth a flood of expressions of love and admiration.

“Enough, Raoul,” said the girl, blushing and dropping her eyes, though no displeasure was visible on her serene and placid face, “another time I might indulge you.  How much worse is your situation now than it was last night!  Then you had only the port to fear; now you have both the people of the port and this strange ship—­an Inglese, as they tell me?”

“No doubt—­la Proserpine, Etooell says, and he knows; you remember Etooell, dearest Ghita, the American who was with me at the tower—­well, he has served in this very ship, and knows her to be la Proserpine, of forty-four.”  Raoul paused a moment; then he added, laughing in a way to surprise his companion—­“Qui—­la Proserpine, le Capitaine Sir Brown!”