Prince Boris, upon leaving Sonia Turgeinov, ascended to the officers' deck. For some moments he paced the narrow confines between the life-boats, then stepped into the wheel-house.
"How is she headed?"
An officer standing near the man at the helm, answered in French.
"This should bring us to"—the nobleman mentioned a group of islands—"by to-morrow night?"
"Hardly, Excellency."
The prince stared moodily. "Have you sighted any other vessels?"
"One or two sailing-craft that have paid no attention to us. The only boat that seemed interested since we left port was the little naphtha."
The nobleman stood as if he had not heard this last remark. About to move away, he suddenly lifted his head and listened. "What was that?" he said sharply.
"What, your Highness?"
"I thought I heard a sound like a cry."