It was very pleasant there in the stern. Ragna seated herself on a coil of rope in the shadow of a life-boat, and the men leaned lazily on the rail watching the exploits of "Napoleon." Angelescu had always a certain soldierly stiffness about him from his clear-cut face to his trim feet, suggestive of an uncompromising attitude of mind where honour or principle were involved. Prince Mirko was a picture of lazy, rather feline grace; not to be characterized as effeminate, he yet did not convey an impression of masculine supremacy, in spite of his broad shoulders and the insolent lift of his moustache; his eyes were too large, his hands and feet too small, his hair too silky, the symmetry of his shape too perfect. He looked more like some handsome arrogant animal than a man born to command men--yet there was no denying his distinction, he was undoubtedly a thoroughbred. Presently they returned to the shade of the awning and the deck chairs, and the Prince drawing a notebook from his pocket, made little sketches of Ragna. "I shall carry something of you with me when our ways part," he said. Ragna felt much flattered and regretted that her list of accomplishments did not include drawing. "But," she said, turning to Angelescu, who had sat a silent spectator, "you can draw, I am sure, will you not make me a little sketch?" Angelescu would be delighted; he went to his cabin and returned with sketch book and pencil, and without more ado began work. Ragna wished to look over his shoulder, but he would not hear of it. "You must be patient till I have finished, Mademoiselle, I am not as accomplished a draughtsman as the Prince, and I could not do anything if you watched me." Finally he produced a very pretty little sketch, representing the rail at the stern, with the slender figure of a girl silhouetted against it, one arm flung out in the act of scattering crumbs. The action was spirited, the whole thing suggested by a few clear decisive strokes of the pencil. Ragna was delighted with it and begged leave to inspect the Count's sketch book; he refused in an embarrassed way, and the Prince, seeing an occasion to tease his friend, made as if to snatch at the book crying-- "Fie, how can you refuse a lady. What have you drawn that is so very, very naughty that it can't be seen? Out with it!"