"Allard," the other corrected pleasantly. "I am infinitely obliged to his Royal Highness, then, I am sure."
"A thousand pardons; I misunderstood your name last night."
"Not exactly, his Royal Highness calls me John, my Christian name."
Vasili's eyes opened and he regarded his companion with marked respect.
"He told me he had known you a long time," he assented, "and that you had been ill. The voyage across will tone you up—if you are a good sailor—before we reach home."
"I am a good sailor," Allard affirmed, rather astonished at Stanief's account of his health. He had no idea of the extreme delicacy of his own appearance, of how those years of torture had left him worn and colorless.
Vasili tilted his chair against the rail and smiled engagingly.
"For my part I am always happiest at sea," he confided. "Not that I am concerned with political affairs—pas si bête; I leave that for wiser heads. But still one is never secure in a country like ours. I walk straight ahead without asking questions, and hope the Grand Duke sees I am doing no more; nevertheless, one is more comfortable at sea. Ah, this America is a restful place! No intrigues, no rivals, no salt-mines in the background."
"A delightful picture you are painting for me," suggested Allard laughingly.
"Oh, you are the friend of his Royal Highness, monsieur. Moreover, every one believes an American or an Englishman when he declares himself with one party; it is only each other whom we always suspect. Tiens, the little white boat!"