"Not old," he answered; "certainly not old. Fifteen years ago she was considered to be one of the most beautiful women in the world." "The ladies of Spain," Peter remarked, with a sigh, "are inclined to mature early." "In some cases," Sogrange assured him, "there are no women in the world who preserve their good looks longer. You shall judge, my friend. Madame comes! How about that sea-sickness now?" "Gone," Peter declared briskly. "Absolutely a fancy of mine. Never felt better in my life." An imposing little procession approached along the deck. There was the deck steward leading the way; a very smart French maid carrying a wonderful collection of wraps, cushions, and books; a black-browed, pallid man-servant, holding a hot-water bottle in his hand and leading a tiny Pekinese spaniel wrapped in a sealskin coat; and finally Madame la Duchesse. It was so obviously a procession intended to impress, that neither Peter nor Sogrange thought it worth while to conceal their interest. The Duchesse, save that she was tall and wrapped in magnificent furs, presented a somewhat mysterious appearance. Her features were entirely obscured by an unusually thick veil of black lace, and the voluminous nature of her outer garments only permitted a suspicion as to her figure, which was, at that time, at once the despair and the triumph of her _corsetière_. With both hands she was holding her fur-lined skirts from contact with the deck, disclosing at the same time remarkably shapely feet encased in trim patent shoes, with plain silver buckles, and a little more black silk stocking than seemed absolutely necessary. The deck steward, after a half-puzzled scrutiny of the labels, let down the chair next to the two men. The Duchesse contemplated her prospective neighbours with some curiosity, mingled with a certain amount of hesitation. It was at that moment that Sogrange, shaking away his rug, rose to his feet. "Madame la Duchesse permits me to remind her of my existence," he said, bowing low. "It is some years since we met, but I had the honour of a dance at the Palace in Madrid." She held out her hand at once, yet somehow Peter felt sure that she was thankful for her veil. Her voice was pleasant, and her air the air of a great lady. She spoke French with the soft, sibilant intonation of the Spaniard. "I remember the occasion perfectly, Marquis," she admitted. "Your sister and I once shared a villa in Mentone." "I am flattered by your recollection, Duchesse," Sogrange murmured. "It is a great surprise to meet with you here, though," she continued. "I did not see you at Cherbourg or on the train." "I motored from Paris," Sogrange explained, "and arrived, contrary to my custom, I must confess, somewhat early. Will you permit that I introduce an acquaintance whom I have been fortunate enough to find on board: Monsieur le Baron de Grost--Madame la Duchesse della Nermino."