"But I grow too serious," he continued. "Perhaps, some day, Poland will be freed, Alsace-Lorraine returned to France; yes," and here he glanced at Dan with a dry smile, "and the people of the Philippines given their independence. Indeed, this M. Vard believes that day to be close at hand. Let us hope so. Which reminds me that I have to-day seen neither him nor his daughter."
"Nor have I," Dan admitted. "I thought perhaps they had some work to do, and so had not come on deck."
"They may be there now," said Chevrial, and led the way to the forward end of the boat-deck, where, leaning against the rail, they could look down upon the promenade below.
Every one was on deck, walking up and down, revelling in the fresh air, with its tang of salt, and in the soft sunshine; but, though Dan and Chevrial stood for some time looking down, neither Miss Vard nor her father passed. Then Chevrial, whose attention had wandered, uttered a little exclamation, and caught Dan by the arm.
"See there!" he said.
He was pointing forward to the first-class promenade, which was also crowded, and Dan, following the direction of his gesture, saw, amid the crowd, a white-haired man and dark-haired girl walking side by side, deep in talk. He looked again, scarcely able to believe his eyes; but there was no mistaking them—they were Miss Vard and her father.
He drew a deep breath of wonder and perplexity. How came they among the first-class passengers? But perhaps they had merely been to see the purser, and were now on their way back. No; they had passed the gangway. In another moment, they turned back along the other side of the promenade and were lost to sight.
Only then did Dan look up. He found Chevrial smiling sardonically.
"But what does it mean?" he asked.
Chevrial pursed his lips.