The little white boat in question was one of the city police launches, and Allard's hand closed sharply on the arm of his chair as the officer in charge hailed the yacht, signifying his intention of coming on board. Captain Delsar went down to receive the visitors, not without visible impatience at the interruption.
"Come," exclaimed the diverted Vasili, after watching the colloquy for a few moments, during which several of the yacht's officers joined their chief. "If it is droll!"
"What is it?"
"Why, of course we all speak French—as does every one at home except peasants—but since Dancla went only the Grand Duke is left who speaks English. And evidently our guests have no French."
Allard surveyed the group, and glanced up at the gorgeous flag fluttering in the breeze and casting its shadow over him. Foreign ground, Stanief had called this.
"I might play interpreter," he offered slowly.
"Surely! Am I dull not to think of that? Shall we go?"
The mutually exasperated group paused to look at the pair coming down the deck toward them, Vasili in his gold-laced uniform and the gentleman in yachting flannels.
"Monsieur Allard, if you will indeed assist us!" welcomed the captain gratefully. "Consider that we sail in an hour, and the moments are going. His Royal Highness does not accept an excuse instead of a result."
"Delighted," Allard responded, nodding an acknowledgment of the sergeant's equally relieved salute. "Officer, can I translate for you? His Royal Highness is not on board, but I am his secretary—"