With the other passengers of the “Alaska,” Tudor Brown had received and accepted an invitation from the prefect.  They thought up to the last moment that he would go in his accustomed dress, for he had made his appearance in it just as they were all going ashore to the dinner.  But doubtless the necessity of removing his precious hat appeared too hard to him, for they saw him no more that evening.

When he returned after the ball, Erik learned from Mr. Hersebom that Tudor Brown had returned at seven o’clock and dined alone.  After that, he had entered the captain’s room to consult a marine chart; then he had returned to the town in the same small boat which had brought him on board.

This was the last news which they received of him.

The next evening at five o’clock Tudor Brown had not made his appearance.  He knew, however, that the machinery of the “Alaska” would be repaired by that time, and her fires kindled, after which it would be impossible to defer her departure.  The captain had been careful to notify every one.  He gave the order to hoist the anchor.

The vessel had been loosened from her moorings when a small boat was signaled making all speed toward them.  Every one believed that it carried Tudor Brown, but they soon saw that it was only a letter which had been sent on board.  It occasion general surprise when it was discovered that this letter was directed to Erik.

When he opened it, Erik found that it simply contained the card of Mr. Durrien, the Honorary Consul-general, and member of the Geographical Society, with these words written in pencil: 

“A good voyage—­a speedy return.”

We can not explain Erik’s feelings.

This attention from an amiable and distinguished savant brought tears to his eyes.  In leaving this hospitable shore where he had remained three days, it seemed to him as if he was leaving his own country.  He placed Mr. Durrien’s card in his memorandum book, and said to himself that this adieu from an old man could not fail to bring him good luck.

It was now the 20th of February.  The weather was fine.  The sun had sunk below the horizon, leaving a sky as cloudless as that of summer.

Erik had the watch during the first quarter, and he walked the quarter-deck with a light step.  It seemed to him that, with the departure of Tudor Brown, the evil genius of the expedition had disappeared.

“Provided that he does not intend to rejoin us at Malta or Suez,” he said to himself.

It was possible—­indeed, even probable—­if Tudor Brown wished to spare himself the long voyage which the “Alaska” would make before reaching Egypt.  While the vessel was going around the coasts of France and Spain, he could, if it so pleased him, stay for a week in Paris, or at any other place, and then take the mail packet either to Alexandria or Suez, and rejoin the “Alaska” at either of those places; or he could even defer doing so until they reached Singapore or Yokohama.