Then with the vehemence of his twenty-seven years, he accosted the
jeweller in the passage way, reproaching him for his silence. He was
the only French citizen aboard. He should have made a few words of
acknowledgment. The fiesta was ending awkwardly through his fault.

"And why have you not spoken as a son of France?" retorted the jeweller.

"I am an Argentinian citizen," replied Julio.

And he left the older man believing that he ought to have spoken and
making explanations to those around him. It was a very dangerous thing,
he protested, to meddle in diplomatic affairs. Furthermore, he had not
instructions from his government. And for a few hours he believed that
he had been on the point of playing a great role in history.

Desnoyers passed the rest of the evening in the smoking room attracted
thither by the presence of the Counsellor's Lady. The Captain of the
Landsturm, sticking a preposterous cigar between his moustachios, was
playing poker with his countrymen ranking next to him in dignity and
riches. His wife stayed beside him most of the time, watching the goings
and comings of the stewards carrying great bocks, without daring to
share in this tremendous consumption of beer. Her special preoccupation
was to keep vacant near her a seat which Desnoyers might occupy. She
considered him the most distinguished man on board because he was
accustomed to taking champagne with all his meals. He was of medium
height, a decided brunette, with a small foot, which obliged her to tuck
hers under her skirts, and a triangular face under two masses of hair,
straight, black and glossy as lacquer, the very opposite of the type of
men about her. Besides, he was living in Paris, in the city which she
had never seen after numerous trips in both hemispheres.