Nor must we forget the stewardess Charlotte, a complaisant Swede, wearing a coquettish little white toque, of the comic-opera style, trimmed with a pretty ribbon bearing the badge of the expedition. This charming person made me three pretty curtsies, and an acquaintance was soon formed between us. It is she who will wait on us at table. She seems much at her ease on board the _Virgo_, and she has better sea-legs than I have. She has made a napkin ring with ribbons for each of us; mine bears the French colours. She is, moreover, very amusing. There is also the cook, who excels in the preparation of _omelettes aux anchois_—but I must not anticipate. After the introductions we taste the brandy and whisky; we drink toasts for the success of the polar expedition; then several speeches are made. At three o’clock we assemble for dinner in the dining saloon. The captain does the honours at the table; he is a jolly amphitryon, and robust both physically and morally. The meal passed off very gaily. I was seated near Strindberg and Professor Arrhénius, with whom I can speak in my own language, and also learn a few words of Swedish. This, in fact, is simply by way of retaliation, as I have been appointed “professor of the French language” by acclamation. We take our coffee on deck, smoking delicious Havannahs presented to the expedition. Gently cradled by the waves, I abandon myself to revery. How many things I have seen since my departure, and how far away from home I am already! Nevertheless, I have only reached the first stage, and much excitement is still in store for me. I have taken possession of my cabin, which adjoins the kitchen and dining saloon, and am settling down there as comfortably as possible, but not without difficulty, as the place allotted to me is very small. At eight o’clock the dinner bell once more unites us round the table, and the evening is spent in frankest cordiality. The voyage commences very promisingly. II Out at Sea _June 8th, 1896, 10.30._—We have been under way for twenty-four hours; we are in sight of Norway, off the Forsund, at a distance of nine miles from the coast, but the mist prevents us from seeing very far. The fir-clad mountains are vaguely outlined to our right, and the _Virgo_ is heading due north-west. There is nothing for us to do but take life as it comes. I commence my diary in my cabin. The sea, though a little rough, has not yet troubled me. Andrée alone has already paid his tribute. _Tuesday, June 9th, Coasts of Norway._—Sea rough, general discomfort, moral prostration; I am unable to write. The _Virgo_ rolls heavily. At the present moment, 6 p.m., it is as light as at midday. _Wednesday, June 10th, 6.30._—The temperature has gone down considerably; we have crossed the polar circle. A steamer has kept company with us this morning at a distance of 7½ miles on our port side. Sea rough.