He had been there three days, living on board the American vessel much more than at the _Maltese Cross_, making an effort to revive his interest in the study of navigation, which had occupied the greater part of his life, when a young ensign, at breakfast one morning, declared, half-laughing and half-sighing, that he had fallen in love the day before, and that the object of his passion was a problem concerning which he should be glad to have the opinion of a man of the world like Palmer. She was a woman apparently twenty-five to thirty years old. He had simply seen her at a window at which she was seated making lace. Coarse cotton lace is made by women all along the Genoese coast. It was formerly a flourishing branch of commerce, which the looms have ruined, but which still affords occupation and a trifling profit to the women and girls of the coast. Therefore the young woman of whom the ensign was enamored belonged to the artisan class, not only because of the work she was doing, but because of the poverty of the house in which he had seen her. And yet the cut of her black dress and the distinction of her features caused some doubt in his mind. She had wavy hair, which was neither dark nor light; dreamy eyes, a pale complexion. She had seen that the young officer was gazing curiously at her from the inn, where he had sought refuge from the rain. She had not condescended to encourage him or to avoid his glances. She had presented a distressing image of indifference personified. The young seaman also stated that he questioned the innkeeper's wife at Porto Venere. She had told him that the stranger had been there three days, living with an old woman who said that she was her niece and who probably lied, for she was an old schemer who let a miserable bedroom to the detriment of the genuine, licensed public-house, and who apparently presumed to invite and entertain guests, but who must feed them very badly, for she had nothing, and for that reason deserved the contempt of all well-to-do people and self-respecting travellers. As a result of this harangue, the young ensign lost no time in going to the old woman and asking her for lodgings for a friend of his whom he was expecting, hoping, by means of this fable, to induce her to talk, and to learn something about the stranger; but the old woman was impenetrable, yes, and incorruptible. The portrait that the officer drew of this young unknown aroused Palmer's attention. It might be Thérèse; but what was she doing at Porto Venere? why was she hiding there? Of course, she was not alone; Laurent must be hidden in some other corner. Palmer deliberated whether or not he should go to China in order not to witness his misfortune. However, he adopted the more sensible course, which was to find out the truth of the matter.