The hot glow of the saloon skylights became a dim refulgence, aside from which, and its glimmer in the mouth of the companionway, no lights were visible in the whole length of the ship except the shuttered window of Mr. Swain's room, which presently was darkened, and odd glimpses of the binnacle light to be had when the helmsman shifted his stand.
A profound hush closed down upon the ship, whose progress across the face of the waters seemed to acquire a new significance of stealth, so that the two seated by the taffrail, above the throbbing screws and rushing torrent of the wake, talked in lowered accents without thinking why.
"It is that one grows bored, eh, cher ami?"
"Perhaps, Liane."
"Or perhaps that one's thought are constantly with one's heart, elsewhere?"
"You think so?"
"At the Château de Montalais, conceivably."
"It amuses you, then, to shoot arrows into the air?"
"But naturally, I seek the reason, when I see you distrait and am conscious of your neglect."
"I think it is for me to complain of that!"