“Read something, dear,” Mademoiselle Blumenghast begged, toying with the red-shaded flower in her burnished curls. “Gladly; but oh, Olga!” the Countess crooned. “What!” “Where’s the wind?” It had gone. “We must row.” There was nothing for it. To gain the long, white breakwater, with the immemorial willow-tree at its end, that was the most salient feature of the island’s approach, required, nevertheless, resolution. “It’s so far, dear,” the Countess kept on saying. “I had no idea how far it was! Had you any conception at all it was so far?” “Let us await the wind, then. It’s bound to rally.” But no air swelled the sun-bleached sails, or disturbed the pearly patine of the paralysed waters. “I shall never get this peace, I only realise it _exists_ ...” the Countess murmured with dream-glazed eyes. “It’s astonishing ... the stillness,” Mademoiselle Blumenghast murmured, with a faint tremor, peering round towards the shore. On the banks young censia-trees raised their boughs like strong white whips towards the mountains, upon whose loftier heights lay, here and there, a little stray patch of snow. “Come hither, ye winds, come hither!” she softly called. “Oh, Olga! Do we really want it?” the Countess in agitation asked, discarding her hat and veil with a long, sighing breath. “I don’t know, dear; no; not, not much.” “Nor I,--at all.” “Let us be patient then.” “It’s all so beautiful it makes one want to cry.” “Yes; it makes one want to cry,” Mademoiselle Blumenghast murmured, with a laugh that in brilliance vied with the October sun. “Olga!” “So,” as the _Calypso_ lurched: “lend me your hanky, dearest.” “_Olga_--? --? Thou fragile, and exquisite thing!” * * * * * Meanwhile Count Cabinet was seated with rod-and-line at an open window, idly ogling a swan. Owing to the reluctance of tradespeople to call for orders, the banished statesman was often obliged to supplement the larder himself. But hardly had he been angling ten minutes to-day, when lo! a distinguished mauvish fish with vivid scarlet spots. Pondering on the mysteries of the deep, and of the subtle variety there is in Nature, the veteran ex-minister lit a cigar. Among the more orthodox types that stocked the lake, such as carp, cod, tench, eels, sprats, shrimps, etc., this exceptional fish must have known its trials and persecutions, its hours of superior difficulty ... and the Count, with a stoic smile recalled his own. Musing on the advantages and disadvantages of personality, of “party” viewpoints, and of morals in general, the Count was soon too self-absorbed to observe the approach of his “useful” secretary and amanuensis, Peter Passer.