“We may both be good, but the day is not, Highness.  It has been raining during the night, and is still drizzling.  I advise you to put on your overcoat.”

“Thanks, Captain, I will.”

The Captain in most friendly manner took the overcoat from its hook, shook it out, and held it ready to embrace its owner.  Lermontoff shoved right arm, then left, into the sleeves, hunched the coat up into place, and buttoned it at the throat.

“Again, Captain, my thanks.  Lead the way and I will follow.”

They emerged on deck into a dismal gray morning.  No land or craft of any kind was in sight.  The horizon formed a small, close circle round the ship.  Clouds hung low, running before the wind, and bringing intermittently little dashes of rain that seemed still further to compress the walls of horizon.  The sea was not what could be called rough, but merely choppy and fretful, with short waves that would not have troubled a larger craft.  The steamer proved to be a small, undistinguished dingy-looking boat, more like a commercial tramp than a government vessel.  An officer, apparently the mate, stood on the bridge, sinewy hands grasping the rail, peering ahead into the white mist that was almost a fog.  The promenade deck afforded no great scope for pedestrianism, but Captain and prisoner walked back and forth over the restricted space, talking genially together as if they were old friends.  Nevertheless there was a certain cautious guardedness in the Captain’s speech; the wary craft of an unready man who is in the presence of a person more subtle than himself.  The bluff Captain remembered he had been caught napping the night before, when, after refusing to tell the Prince the direction of the steamer, he had given himself away by mentioning the Gulf of Finland.  Lermontoff noticed this reluctance to plunge into the abyss of free conversation, and so, instead of reassuring him he would ask no more questions, he merely took upon his own shoulders the burden of the talk, and related to the Captain certain wonders of London and New York.

The steward advanced respectfully to the Captain, and announced breakfast ready, whereupon the two men followed him into a saloon not much larger than the stateroom Lermontoff had occupied the night before, and not nearly so comfortably furnished.  A plenteous breakfast was supplied, consisting principally of fish, steaming potatoes, black bread, and very strong tea.  The Captain swallowed cup after cup of this scalding beverage, and it seemed to make him more and more genial as if it had been wine.  Indeed, as time went on he forgot that it was a prisoner who sat before him, for quite innocently he said to the steward who waited on them: 

“Have the poor devils below had anything to eat?”

“No orders, sir,” replied the steward.

“Oh, well, give them something—­ something hot.  It may be their last meal,” then turning, he met the gaze of the Prince, demanded roughly another cup of tea, and explained: