Frederick went to his cabin and removed the grey suit he had worn in the purgatory of the stoke-hole.  He put on striped trousers, a black waistcoat, and black frock coat.  By the time he appeared in the dining-room, a lively procession of brilliant toilettes was already making its way there.  Almost all the ladies of the first class came rustling in.  Frederick from his seat observed that many of them had to stop for an instant at the doorway to pluck up their courage.  Then, with a charmingly humorous smile, they would conquer their dread of seasickness, particularly threatening in the dining-room, and step over the threshold.

Save for the slight quiver that ran through the walls and ceilings of the whole vessel, its motion was scarcely perceptible.  The music began, and the swarm of stewards in livery, who came hurrying in, could serve each guest with a full plate of soup without need of balancing.

“A full-dress dinner,” said the captain with a contented glance about the room as he seated himself.

Fish was already being served when Ingigerd entered on the arm of the very ungainly and very ordinary looking Achleitner.  At the sight of her absurd get-up, Frederick felt like sinking through the floor.  The barber had piled her beautiful light hair into a fearful mountain of puffs, and about her narrow shoulders she wore a Spanish shawl, as if to represent Carmen—­a very pitiful Carmen, who provoked jeers and jibes from one end of the table to the other.

“What deadly green stockings!” Frederick thought, as he choked down a piece of fish with the bones in it.

“Why in the name of sense does she wear those bronze slippers?”

“Some chalk, please, for the lady,” said one man.  “She is going to dance the tight rope for us.”

Mischievous looks and remarks flew about the table.  Both the ladies and the gentlemen choked over their fish or wine and had to hold their napkins to their lips.  Not all of their remarks were pronounced sotto voce, and among the card players, who were again drinking champagne, the jokes aimed at Ingigerd and Achleitner were particularly loud and coarse.

Could Frederick believe his eyes?  Terror shot to his heart.  That sad little monstrosity was walking toward him—­stood next to him in compromising intimacy—­was saying poutingly: 

“When are you going to pay me a visit again?”

Frederick made some inconsequential reply.

Necks in standing collars, bare throats encircled with gold chains and pearls turned toward the captain’s table.  Frederick could not recall ever having had an experience so painfully humiliating.  Ingigerd saw nothing and felt nothing.  Achleitner, however, seemed to be rather ill at ease under the perceptible cross-fire of the animated company, and tried to lead her away.  Finally, she left the tortured man, saying: 

“My, you’re dull and stupid!  I don’t like you.”  At which the captain’s corner burst into a prolonged laugh, which was a relief to everybody’s but Frederick’s feelings.