Doctor Wilhelm was summoned away, and after a while Frederick succeeded in taking leave of Toussaint and his wife.  He remained alone.  The clear heavens, the deep blue sea, smooth as glass, calmed as if by a miracle, the music, the dancing, the sunlight, and the dear, sweet, pacifying, all-forgiving letter of his mother—­it was in his pocket—­awakened in him a fresh, pleasant sense of vitality.

“Life,” he said to himself, “is always this way or that, a moment filled with pain or pleasure, with darkness or brightness, with sunlight or heavy, black clouds; and according to the moment in which we view our past and future, these will darken or brighten.  Should existence in the shining light possess lesser reality than existence in the dark?” “No, it should not,” was the answer that came from everything within and about him, filling him with youthful, almost childlike joy.

Frederick had pushed back his slouched hat, had unbuttoned his light overcoat, and was standing with his arms crooked over the railing.  He looked out upon the sea.  He felt the pulse beats of the engines, his ears were filled with the pliant, melodious chords of the Viennese waltz; the whole world had turned into a brilliant, lively, sparkling ballroom.  He had suffered and caused others to suffer.  Now he embraced all those through whom he had suffered and who had suffered through him, and seemed to wed them in blissful intoxication.

At this point Ingigerd Hahlstroem passed by with the giant Von Halm.  Frederick heard her say she did not dance, that dancing was an insipid pleasure.  With that, he started away from the railing, went up to the Canadian, and in a peculiar, fiery German manner ruthlessly drew her away from the young American, who was completely taken aback.  It was evident that the delicate, exotic woman, whose breast rose and fell convulsively, took pleasure in that strong conqueror’s arm as they circled about in the dance.

At the conclusion of the dance, he found himself under the necessity of murdering French and English with her for a time and was very glad when he could gracefully deliver her over again to the jealous young American.

Stoss was being transported across the deck by his valet, who, as always, held him by his coat collar.

“My private overland and oversea express,” he called to Frederick.

Frederick pulled up a steamer chair for him in a sudden impulse to chat with Stoss.

“If the weather remains like this,” said Stoss, after his valet had carefully and skilfully seated him in the chair, “we can reach Hoboken some time on Tuesday.  But only if the weather does remain like this.  The captain tells me that when we are running under full steam, as now, we make sixteen knots an hour.”

Frederick started.  So Tuesday this life under the same roof with Ingigerd was to end.