"Where shall you go?"

"Anywhere away from here. Back to Silberstadt. I shall write to the
Reigning Prince."

The young man turned a little and looked at her, with his crayon poised.
"My dear Eugenia," he murmured, "were you so happy at sea?"

Eugenia got up; she still held in her hand the drawing her brother had
given her. It was a bold, expressive sketch of a group of miserable
people on the deck of a steamer, clinging together and clutching at each
other, while the vessel lurched downward, at a terrific angle, into
the hollow of a wave. It was extremely clever, and full of a sort of
tragi-comical power. Eugenia dropped her eyes upon it and made a sad
grimace. "How can you draw such odious scenes?" she asked. "I should
like to throw it into the fire!" And she tossed the paper away. Her
brother watched, quietly, to see where it went. It fluttered down to the
floor, where he let it lie. She came toward the window, pinching in
her waist. "Why don't you reproach me--abuse me?" she asked. "I think
I should feel better then. Why don't you tell me that you hate me for
bringing you here?"

"Because you would not believe it. I adore you, dear sister! I am
delighted to be here, and I am charmed with the prospect."

"I don't know what had taken possession of me. I had lost my head,"
Eugenia went on.

The young man, on his side, went on plying his pencil. "It is evidently