When, after dinner, the Spaniard again ascended to the deck, the cold had increased. He enfolded himself in his cloak, and commenced promenading. Then he noticed the German seated on a bench, and looking at the sea; which, as if to exhibit its sparkling, displayed on the sides of the ship its pearls of foam, and their brilliant phosphoric light. This young observer was dressed very insufficiently, because his frock-coat had become worn and unserviceable, and the cold must have pierced him.
The Spaniard advanced several paces to approach him; but he hesitated, he knew not how to institute a conversation. Immediately he smiled, as if a happy thought had occurred to him, and that he was going the right way towards it, and said to the German, in Latin: “You must feel very cold.”
That voice and short phrase produced on the stranger the most lively satisfaction, and harmonized, also, with his questioner, they were in accord in the same dialect; he replied:
“The night is, indeed, somewhat severe; but I was not thinking of that.”
“Then what were you thinking of?” demanded the Spaniard.
“I was thinking of my father and mother, and of my brothers and sisters.”
“Why do you travel, then, if you so much feel the separation?”
“Ah! señor; necessity—that implacable despot.”
“Why not travel for pleasure?”
“Pleasure is for the rich, and I am poor. For my pleasure! If I avow the motive of my voyage, then truly pleasure would be very far off.”