The yacht could have held two hundred passengers, and it accommodated only ten. Its furnishings and arrangements were sumptuous. The deck-house was a hundred feet long. In front were a card-room and the apartments of the captain; all the rest was taken for great cabins, each with its boudoir and bath-room.
Through the music-room, where the breath of the open sea brought to grandma, Ethel, and Will the smell of the roses, they would go down to the great hall wainscoted in unvarnished cedar, which framed decorative panels. Farther on in the suite of rooms was the library, with its wide, red-leather sofas. Above the shelves twelve caryatids, in yellow marble, upheld the plinth. There were radiators for heat and ventilators for coolness, with telephones and electric buttons everywhere. Their bells gave a thrill of life from end to end of the yacht.
Ethel was on the point of ringing for her maid, when Suzanne appeared. She brought the plaids, fearing the evening freshness might incommode Mme. Rowrer or Miss Rowrer.
“Suzanne,” Ethel said, while she was putting a plaid over her shoulders, “I don’t see Monsieur Phil. Perhaps he is showing the yacht to Mademoiselle Helia.”
“No; Monsieur Phil is not showing the yacht. Monsieur Phil is giving a lemon to M. Caracal to suck. M. Caracal suffers martyrdom. The sighs of M. Caracal rend one’s heart. Mademoiselle Helia is in her cabin, reading.”
Suzanne, since she had become a soubrette, said “Mademoiselle” when she spoke of Helia. She had perfect tact; she was the ideal soubrette. She had accepted eagerly Ethel’s offer to accompany her to Morgania. The life she was leading with Perbaccho wearied her; and then, to hear Poufaille always repeating the same thing over,—to be always knocking on the same skull at the same hours,—she was tired of it all.
Will at first intended to take Poufaille along to help the cook, but he prudently gave up the project when he heard Poufaille explaining his ideas on pig’s-rump and garlic, and goat’s-milk cheese. So Suzanne not only escaped from Poufaille for the present, but she served Miss Rowrer, whom she adored; and, moreover, she followed Helia and Phil. She guessed that something had lately passed between them. She was devoured by curiosity to know how the romance would end. Was it possible that Phil, who formerly had been so good and upright, could have changed to such a degree? A hundred times over she had been called to be a witness to his love and a confidante of his oaths. Ah, men, men! for them the broomstick—et aïe donc!
“Tell me,” Ethel said, “is Mademoiselle Helia glad, now that she has come? I had Monsieur Phil invite her, and she refused at first. I had to insist myself, and almost get angry, to make her accept.”
“Oh, yes, Mademoiselle Helia is very glad!” and Suzanne, having arranged the plaids, lifted to Miss Rowrer eyes in which she might have read infinite gratitude for so much goodness.
“I need you, Helia,” Ethel had urged; “you know it well! I count on you for my lessons in physical culture, and you know I’ve got it in my head to take you to my father’s university. There are charming young girls there, and you will teach them how to be strong and beautiful. Besides, the voyage will do so much good to Sœurette. Come—you’ll be at home!”