Nevil hastened to make this a true report; but they had to wait for tide as well as breeze, and pilot through intricate mud-channels before they could see the outside of the Lido, and meanwhile the sun lay like a golden altarplatter on mud-banks made bare by the ebb, and curled in drowsy yellow links along the currents. All they could do was to push off and hang loose, bumping to right and left in the midst of volleys and countervolleys of fishy Venetian, Chioggian, and Dalmatian, quite as strong as anything ever heard down the Canalaggio. The representatives of these dialects trotted the decks and hung their bodies half over the sides of the vessels to deliver fire, flashed eyes and snapped fingers, not a whit less fierce than hostile crews in the old wars hurling an interchange of stink-pots, and then resumed the trot, apparently in search of fresh ammunition. An Austrian sentinel looked on passively, and a police inspector peeringly. They were used to it. Happily, the combustible import of the language was unknown to the ladies, and Nevil’s attempts to keep his crew quiet, contrasting with Roland’s phlegm, which a Frenchman can assume so philosophically when his tongue is tied, amused them. During the clamour, Renée saw her father beckoning from the riva. She signified that she was no longer in command of circumstances; the vessel was off. But the count stamped his foot, and nodded imperatively. Thereupon Roland repeated the eloquent demonstrations of Renée, and the count lost patience, and Roland shouted, “For the love of heaven, don’t join this babel; we’re nearly bursting.” The rage of the babel was allayed by degrees, though not appeased, for the boat was behaving wantonly, as the police officer pointed out to the count. Renée stood up to bend her head. It was in reply to a salute from the Marquis de Rouaillout, and Nevil beheld his rival. “M. le Marquis, seeing it is out of the question that we can come to you, will you come to us?” cried Roland. The marquis gesticulated “With alacrity” in every limb. “We will bring you back on to-morrow midnight’s tide, safe, we promise you.” The marquis advanced a foot, and withdrew it. Could he have heard correctly? They were to be out a whole night at sea! The count dejectedly confessed his incapability to restrain them: the young desperadoes were ready for anything. He had tried the voice of authority, and was laughed at. As to Renée, an English lady was with her. “The English lady must be as mad as the rest,” said the marquis. “The English are mad,” said the count; “but their women are strict upon the proprieties.” “Possibly, my dear count; but what room is there for the proprieties on board a fishing-boat?” “It is even as you say, my dear marquis.” “You allow it?” “Can I help myself? Look at them. They tell me they have given the boat the fittings of a yacht.” “And the young man?”