are indeed lonely and remote."

"It is that," insisted the Marquis, "which so charms me. When one is
old and when one has lived a life too occupied, it is this peace,
this quiet, this remoteness one desires. To walk a little, to sit by
your so marvellously warm fires, to look upon your beautiful country,
_cest bou_!"

He held her for a moment with his piercing little eyes, a faint smile
upon his lips, as though to say that it was impossible he should be
convinced that he had not found precisely what he was seeking, and
insisting, as it were, that his hostess take his words as the compliment
they were designed to be.

Before she had time to reply, he had turned to Dan. "What a fine harbour
you have, Monsieur Frost," he said, pointing through the window toward
the Cove, separated from the river and the sea by the great curve of
Strathsey Neck, its blue waters sparkling now in the light of the
morning sun.

"Yes," replied Dan, glancing out upon the well-known shoreline, "it is a
good harbour, though nothing, of course, to compare with a Port. But it's
seldom that we see a ship at anchor here, now."

"There is, however," inquired the Marquis with interest, "anchorage for a
vessel, a large vessel?"

"Yes, indeed," Tom interrupted, "in the old days when my father had his
ships plying between Havana and the Port, he would often have them anchor
in the Cove for convenience in lading them with corn from the farm."