“He shrugged his shoulders and made a wave of the hand. ‘I do not know—that is immaterial; the important thing is to secure my wife. Is it too much to ask you to go in and look for her, my dear Doctor?’
“I went in, of course, but in the meantime she had learned that Stewart had gone off to the schooner, and, fearing violence for him at the hands of her husband, she had gone out herself. When I returned the situation was interesting. Madame was confined to her room in a state of frantic and screaming defiance; Stewart was double-ironed in the lazarette, and, although I did not see him again, I learned afterwards that he had not been over gently handled by the sailors, and the Count was sipping absinthe in the saloon and listening to the ravings of his wife with an expression of amused indulgence.
“‘But listen to her, Doctor,’ he observed, gently stroking his gray imperial. ‘Primitive woman howling for her mate; Eve, haled back from outer darkness, screaming to Adam, whose admittance is denied. My faith! she is more beautiful than ever—although,’ and his brow clouded, ‘bearing the marks of ill usage.’ He arose and began to slowly pace the beam of the saloon; his scholarly face seamed in thought, the lustre gone from his eyes. It was evident that he was thinking deeply. From the other side of the after bulkhead came the short, angry sobs of the Countess. He listened for an instant, and at the sound of a sudden little snarl of rage he slowly shook his head and smiled.
“‘Interesting, Doctor, is it not? It would be beautiful in a way, primevally beautiful—an idyll of the callow world when the rocks were jagged like molten lead thrown into water, the vegetation chiefly fungoid, and it was necessary to clip the wings of one’s horned cattle. But for the man—he is a late, mongrel, low-grade production, with merely a few primitive impulses.’ He paused to ponder. Madame’s sobs continued rhythmically, broken now and then by a little ‘gr’r’r’—pure rage—the sounds which babies make when too angry to scream.
“‘Oh, these children—it is hard to know what course to take.’ The Count turned to me in his perplexity. ‘As far as this man is concerned, I suppose that the best thing would be to give him a good flogging and let him go—eh, Doctor?’
“‘A flogging!’ I echoed, with a sort of horror.
“‘Why not? He is not a gentleman. He has endangered my life, which I forgive; he has seduced my wife, for which I make due allowance; he has insulted me to my face, for which I do not bear malice; but—he is canaille, which makes it impossible for him to do all of these things which one might forgive in a gentleman. He uses the wrong sort of profanity; he chastises his mistress with his fists instead of his wit; he forgets his dignity before my servants; when disarmed he disgorged a knife—and he an Englishman! Br’r’rgh! he is a nauseous animal. Let him have a few lashes and be set ashore.’
“Perhaps I was wrong, Doctor, but I could not forget the rascal’s care of me when I was ill. I told the Count flatly that I would not permit it, and when he proved obstinate told him outright that to flog Stewart he would first have to use violence towards me. He broke down and wept at the bare suggestion of this, commemorated my treatment and care of him when he was ill, and then embraced me and swore that he loved me like a brother, and in the same breath gave orders that Stewart be immediately set ashore, with no further ill-treatment.
“Stewart was accordingly landed and went his way in peace. The Countess got over her fit of temper in about an hour, ate a hearty dinner, drank several glasses of champagne, cheered up, and when I retired she was sitting on the arm of her husband’s chair and, assured of his unqualified forgiveness, was relating her adventure, while he chuckled to himself like a mischievous schoolboy.
“The savage was back on the reservation; glad to be there; fed, forgiven, petted and quite content to be good—until the next time.”