“To a private marriage, and then flight.…”
“But with whom?”
“With me!…”
“What! your Grace! but where to?”
“To the end of the world, if need be.… Ah, yes, while I think of it, persuade her not to carry pistolets on her person; the other day, in a passion, she nearly killed her own maid, Francesca.…”
Having uttered this confession, this athletic, this splendid Apollo-like count, stood before me as flushed as a schoolgirl, and his eyes were cast down, just as if he were some love-sick youth awaiting his sentence.
What answer could I make him? In my agitation I was silent; but then, as always, I decided to remain his most devoted and obedient servant. After all, what was it? A marriage. There was nothing bad in that. In marrying her the count was only obeying the dictates of his heart, and while gaining in position by allying himself with Imperial blood, he was transforming the “Adventuress” into the modest Countess Orloff.
Here I must interrupt my narrative, and return to the present—to our poor frigate. My God! how awful! Tempest-tost, the Northern Eagle for five whole days was borne no one knew whither. All the reckonings, all the fathomings were being done in vain. To-day, at dawn, we passed Spain, not far from the African coast and near some wild stony islands. We made signals, but in the fog no one could see us. In the daytime, having finished my watch, I remained on deck. A most unbearable, sultry coast-wind, a boundless expanse of water, splashing between the rocks, a ship without mast or compass, universal despair, and not the least hope of being saved: that is all we have before our eyes. The first reef, and we are lost. Irena, oh! far-off charming traitress! oh! could you but see all the torments endured by the poor rejected exile! Night, again a calm. I’m once more in my cabin. All-powerful God, give me only the strength to live through this night and finish writing my tale.