Although she was not at all superstitious, Ely could not help feeling, with a shudder, how this sudden invasion of the radiant day by the sadness of evening, resembled the darkening of her inward heaven by the evocation of her past. This analogy had given an added poignancy to her contemplation of the tragic sunset, the battle of the day's last fire with the shadows of night, and happily the magnificence of this spectacle had been so overwhelming that even her light companions had felt its solemnity. No one had spoken during the few minutes of this enchantment in the west. Now, when the babble recommenced, she felt like fleeing from it--fleeing even from Hautefeuille, whose presence she feared. Moved as she was, she was afraid of breaking into tears beside him; tears that she would not be able to explain. When he approached her she said, "You must pay some attention to the others," and she began to pace the deck from end to end in company with Dickie Marsh. The American had the habit, while on board, of taking a certain amount of exercise measured exactly by the watch. He looked at the time, then paced over a measured distance until he had complied with his hygienic rules. "At Marionville," he would say, "it was very simple; the blocks are each exactly a half mile long. When you have walked eight of them, you know you have done four miles. And your constitutional is finished." Usually, when thus engaged in the noble duty of exercise, Marsh remained silent. It was the time when he invented those schemes that were destined to make him a billionaire. Ely, knowing of this peculiarity, counted upon not exchanging ten words while walking with the potentate of Marionville. She thought that the silent promenade would quiet her overwrought nerves. They had paced thus for perhaps ten minutes, when Dickie Marsh, who appeared more preoccupied than usual, suddenly asked:-- "Does Chésy sometimes speak to you of his affairs?" "Sometimes," answered the young woman, "as he does to everybody. You know he has an idea that he is one of the shrewdest on the Bourse, and he is very glad to talk about it." "Has he told you," Marsh continued, "that he is speculating in mining stocks?" "Very likely. I do not listen to him." "I heard him say so," the American said, "and just a moment ago, after tea, and I am still upset by it. And there are not many things that can worry me. At this moment," he continued, looking at Madame de Chésy, who was talking with Hautefeuille, "this charming Vicomtesse Yvonne is, beyond doubt, ruined; absolutely, radically ruined." "That is impossible. Chésy is advised by Brion, who, I have heard, is one of the best financiers of the day."