“I have the honor to inform you, young man,” he said, imitating the cutting coldness of the diplomats, “that you are merely a South American and know nothing of the affairs of Europe.”

He did not call him an “Indian,” but Julio heard the implication as though he had used the word itself.  Ah, if that hidden handclasp had not held him with its sentimental thrills! . . .  But this contact kept him calm and even made him smile.  “Thanks, Captain,” he said to himself.  “It is the least you can do to get even with me!”

Here his relations with the German and his clientele came to an end.  The merchants, as they approached nearer and nearer to their native land, began casting off that servile desire of ingratiating themselves which they had assumed in all their trips to the new world.  They now had more important things to occupy them.  The telegraphic service was working without cessation.  The Commandant of the vessel was conferring in his apartment with the Counsellor as his compatriot of most importance.  His friends were hunting out the most obscure places in order to talk confidentially with one another.  Even Bertha commenced to avoid Desnoyers.  She was still smiling distantly at him, but that smile was more of a souvenir than a reality.

Between Lisbon and the coast of England, Julio spoke with her husband for the last time.  Every morning was appearing on the bulletin board the alarming news transmitted by radiograph.  The Empire was arming itself against its enemies.  God would punish them, making all manner of troubles fall upon them.  Desnoyers was motionless with astonishment before the last piece of news—­“Three hundred thousand revolutionists are now besieging Paris.  The suburbs are beginning to burn.  The horrors of the Commune have broken out again.”

“My, but these Germans have gone mad!” exclaimed the disgusted youth to the curious group surrounding the radio-sheet.  “We are going to lose the little sense that we have left! . . .  What revolutionists are they talking about?  How could a revolution break out in Paris if the men of the government are not reactionary?”

A gruff voice sounded behind him, rude, authoritative, as if trying to banish the doubts of the audience.  It was the Herr Comerzienrath who was speaking.

“Young man, these notices are sent us by the first agencies of Germany . . . and Germany never lies.”

After this affirmation, he turned his back upon them and they saw him no more.

On the following morning, the last day of the voyage.  Desnoyers’ steward awoke him in great excitement.  “Herr, come up on deck! a most beautiful spectacle!”