One morning the ship band which every Sunday had sounded the Choral of Luther, awoke those sleeping in the first-class cabins with the most unheard-of serenade.  Desnoyers rubbed his eyes believing himself under the hallucinations of a dream.  The German horns were playing the Marseillaise through the corridors and decks.  The steward, smiling at his astonishment, said, “The fourteenth of July!” On the German steamers they celebrate as their own the great festivals of all the nations represented by their cargo and passengers.  Their captains are careful to observe scrupulously the rites of this religion of the flag and its historic commemoration.  The most insignificant republic saw the ship decked in its honor, affording one more diversion to help combat the monotony of the voyage and further the lofty ends of the Germanic propaganda.  For the first time the great festival of France was being celebrated on a German vessel, and whilst the musicians continued escorting a racy Marseillaise in double quick time through the different floors, the morning groups were commenting on the event.

“What finesse!” exclaimed the South American ladies.  “These Germans are not so phlegmatic as they seem.  It is an attention . . . something very distinguished. . . .  And is it possible that some still believe that they and the French might come to blows?”

The very few Frenchmen who were travelling on the steamer found themselves admired as though they had increased immeasurably in public esteem.  There were only three;—­an old jeweller who had been visiting his branch shops in America, and two demi-mondaines from the rue de la Paix, the most timid and well-behaved persons aboard, vestals with bright eyes and disdainful noses who held themselves stiffly aloof in this uncongenial atmosphere.

At night there was a gala banquet in the dining room at the end of which the French flag and that of the Empire formed a flaunting, conspicuous drapery.  All the German passengers were in dress suits, and their wives were wearing low-necked gowns.  The uniforms of the attendants were as resplendent as on a day of a grand review.

During dessert the tapping of a knife upon a glass reduced the table to sudden silence.  The Commandant was going to speak.  And this brave mariner who united to his nautical functions the obligation of making harangues at banquets and opening the dance with the lady of most importance, began unrolling a string of words like the noise of clappers between long intervals of silence.  Desnoyers knew a little German as a souvenir of a visit to some relatives in Berlin, and so was able to catch a few words.  The Commandant was repeating every few minutes “peace” and “friends.”  A table neighbor, a commercial commissioner, offered his services as interpreter to Julio, with that obsequiousness which lives on advertisement.

“The Commandant asks God to maintain peace between Germany and France and hopes that the two peoples will become increasingly friendly.”