Freya responded with an expression of enthusiasm and respect. Her friend was an illustrious patriot, a very learned woman, who was placing all her faculties at the service of her country. She adored her. She was her protector; she had rescued her in the most difficult moment of her existence.
"And the count?" Ferragut continued asking.
Here the woman made a gesture of reserve.
"He also is a great patriot, but do not let us talk about him."
In her words there were both respect and fear. He suspected that she did not wish to have anything to do with this haughty personage.
A long silence. Freya, as if fearing the effects of the captain's meditations, suddenly cut them short with her headlong chatter.
The doctor and she had come from Rome to take refuge in Naples, fleeing from the intrigues and mutterings of the capital. The Italians were squabbling among themselves; some were partisans of the war, others of neutrality; none of them wished to aid Germany, their former ally.
"We, who have protected them so much!" she exclaimed. "False and ungrateful race!…"
Her gestures and her words recalled to Ulysses' mind the image of the doctor, execrating the Italian country from a little window of the coach, the first day that they had talked together.
The two women were in Naples, whiling away their tedious waiting with trips to neighboring places of interest, when they met the sailor.