'My uncle is the one perfectly happy man that I have ever known,' replied Othmar. 'It is because he is the most perfect of egotists. According to him the sun shines only for the Othmar, as Joshua fancied it only shone for the Israelites.'
'It is not only that,' she said, 'it is because he has the dramatic instinct. He sees the dramatic side to all that he does; suppliant monarchs, bankrupt statesmen, intriguing diplomatists; men who carry him schemes to tunnel the earth from pole to pole, and great ladies who want him to lend them money on their family diamonds; they are all so many comedians in the eyes of Baron Fritz. He pulls their strings and makes them dance at his pleasure. I quite understand how the whole comedy amuses him so greatly that he can never be conscious of a moment of _ennui_. It is a great pity that you are not like that. You would leave such witty memoirs!--for you can be witty,--or you would be if you were not always so melancholy.'
'I regret, Madame,' said Othmar, 'that I cannot alter the manner of my life even to have the honour of amusing you after my death!'
Across the bows of the 'Zostera' at that moment there passed, perilously near, one of the lateen-sailed boats so common on the coast, with their freights of fruits, of fish, of olives, or of market produce. The boat was full of lemons and of oranges, which gleamed like virgin gold in the bright sunshine of the tranquil afternoon. A peasant woman was managing the sail, a young girl was steering.
'What a beautiful face!' said Nadine Napraxine, who had a great love of beauty, and the frank acknowledgment of it of a woman high above all possibilities of envy.
'A very lovely face,' he said indifferently.
'She does not look like a peasant,' continued Mme. Napraxine; 'that little grey gown speaks of some convent. She steers well, for they were terribly near. Who is that very pretty child, Monsignore? I suppose you know all the flock of which you are given the winter shepherding.'
'Pray do not make me responsible for all the black sheep of these shores,' said Melville, drawing near and looking at the boat, which was going slowly and heavily against the wind, and labouring under a weighty load. He said as he did so, with a little surprise: