“Young ladies,” said Jacqueline, “I present to you a ’bordachien’—­a little middy from the practice-ship the Borda.”

They burst out laughing:  “A bordachien!  A middy from the practice-ship!” they cried.

“I shall not be much longer on the practice-ship,” said the young man, with a gesture which seemed as if his hand were feeling for the hilt of his sword, which was not there, “for I am going very soon on my first voyage as an ensign.”

“Yes,” explained Jacqueline, “he is going to be transferred from the ‘Borda’ to the ’Jean-Bart’—­which, by the way, is no longer the ‘Jean-Bart’, only people call her so because they are used to it.  Meantime you see before you “C,” the great “C,” the famous “C,” that is, he is the pupil who stands highest on the roll of the naval school at this moment.”

There was a vague murmur of applause.  Poor Fred was indeed in need of some appreciation on the score of merit, for he was not much to look upon, being at that trying age when a young fellow’s moustache is only a light down, an age at which youths always look their worst, and are awkward and unsociable because they are timid.

“Then you are no longer an idle fellow,” said Dolly, rather teasingly.  “People used to say that you went into the navy to get rid of your lessons.  That I can quite understand.”

“Oh, he has passed many difficult exams,” cried Giselle, coming to the rescue.

“I thought I had had enough of school,” said Fred, without making any defense, “and besides I had other reasons for going into the navy.”

His “other reasons” had been a wish to emancipate himself from the excessive solicitude of his mother, who kept him tied to her apron-strings like a little girl.  He was impatient to do something for himself, to become a man as soon as possible.  But he said nothing of all this, and to escape further questions devoured three or four little cakes that were offered him.  Before taking them he removed his gloves and displayed a pair of chapped and horny hands.

“Why—­poor Fred!” cried Jacqueline, who remarked them in a moment, “what kind of almond paste do you use?”

Much annoyed, he replied, curtly:  “We all have to row, we have also to attend to the machinery.  But that is only while we are cadets.  Of course, such apprenticeship is very hard.  After that we shall get our stripes and be ordered on foreign service, and expect promotion.”

“And glory,” said Giselle, who found courage to speak.

Fred thanked her with a look of gratitude.  She, at least, understood his profession.  She entered into his feelings far better than Jacqueline, who had been his first confidante—­Jacqueline, to whom he had confided his purposes, his ambition, and his day-dreams.  He thought Jacqueline was selfish.  She seemed to care only for herself.  And yet, selfish or not selfish, she pleased him better than all the other girls he knew—­a thousand times more than gentle, sweet Giselle.