And we entered the dining room. All my numbers are there: 1, Ephrinell,
taking his place as usual by the side of 2, Miss Horatia Bluett. The
French couple, 4 and 5, are also side by side. Number 3, that is Major
Noltitz, is seated in front of numbers 9 and 10, the two Chinese to
whom I have just given numbers in my notebook. As to the fat German,
number 6, he has already got his long nose into his soup plate. I see
also that the Guard Popol, number 7, has his place at the foot of the
table. The other passengers, Europeans and Asiatics, are installed,
_passim_ with the evident intention of doing justice to the repast.

Ah! I forgot my number 8, the disdainful gentleman whose name I don't
yet know, and who seems determined to find the Russian cookery inferior
to the English.

I also notice with what attention Monsieur Caterna looks after his
wife, and encourages her to make up for the time lost when she was
unwell on board the _Astara_. He keeps her glass filled, he chooses the
best pieces for her, etc.

"What a good thing it is," I hear him say, "that we are not to leeward
of the Teuton, for there would be nothing left for us!"

He is to windward of him--that is to say, the dishes reach him before
they get to the baron, which, however, does not prevent his clearing
them without shame.

The observation, in sea language, made me smile, and Caterna, noticing
it, gave me a wink with a slight movement of the shoulder toward the
baron.