Breitmann watched them as long as he could.  There was no jealousy in his heart, but there was bitterness, discontent, a savage self-pillorying.  He was genuinely sorry that this young woman was so pretty; still, had she the graces of Calypso, he must have come.  She would distract him, and he desired at that time distraction least of all diversions.  Concentration and singleness of purpose—­upon these two attributes practically hung his life.  How strangely fate had stepped with him.  What if there had not been that advertisement for a private secretary?  How then should he have gained a footing in this house?  Well, here he was, and speculation was of no value, save in a congratulatory sense.  The fly in the amber was the presence of the young American; Fitzgerald, shrewd and clever, might stumble upon something.  Well, till against that time!

His room was pleasant, a corner which gave two excellent views, one of the sea and the other of the orchard.  There was no cluttering of furniture; it was simple, substantial, decently old.  On the plain walls were some choice paintings.  A landscape by Constable, a water color by Fortuny, and a rough sketch by Detaille; and the inevitable marines, such as one might expect in the house of a fighting sailor.  He examined these closely, and was rather pleased to find them valuable old prints.  And, better to his mind than all these, was the deft, mysterious touch or suggestion of a woman’s hand.  He saw it in the pillows on the lounge, in the curtains dropping from the windows, in the counterpane on the old four-poster.

Did Americans usually house their private secretaries in rooms fit for guests of long and intimate acquaintance?  Ah, yes; this sailor was a rich man; and this mansion had not been erected yesterday.  It amused him to think that these walls and richly polished floors were older than the French revolution.  It seemed incredible, but it was true.

“Pirates!” His laughter broke forth, not loudly but deeply, fired by a broad and ready sense of humor—­a perilous gift for a man who is seeking fine hazards.  It was droll, it was even fantastic.  To cruise about the world in search of pirate treasures, as if there remained a single isle, shore, promontory, known to have been the haunt of pirates, which had not been dug up and dug up again!  And here, under the very hand——­ He struck his palms.  “Why not?”

He ran to the window.  The sleek white yacht lay tugging at her cables, like an eager hound in the leash.  “Seaworthy from stem to stern.  Why not?  No better cloak than this.  I may not make you a good secretary, admiral; but, the gods propitious, I can, if needs say must, take you treasure hunting.  It will be a fine stroke.  Is it possible that fortune begins to smile on me at last?  Well, I have had the patience to wait.  The hour has come, and fortune shall not find me laggard.  It has been something to wait as I have, never to have spoken, never to have forgotten.  France knows and Germany knows, but only me, not what I have.  They have even tried to drive me to crime.  Wait, fools, wait!”