'I suppose we are in the hands of--God,' something moved Siegmund to
say. The stranger contracted his eyes slightly as he gazed deep at
the speaker.

'Ah!' he drawled curiously. Then his eyes wandered over the wet hair,
the white brow, and the bare throat of Siegmund, after which they
returned again to the eyes of his interlocutor. 'Does the Czar sail this
way?' he asked at last.

'I do not know,' replied Siegmund, who, troubled by the other's
penetrating gaze, had not expected so trivial a question.

'I suppose the newspaper will tell us?' said the man.

Sure to,' said Siegmund.

'You haven't seen it this morning?' 'Not since Saturday.' The swift blue eyes of the man dilated. He looked curiously at Siegmund.

'You are not alone on your holiday?' 'No.' Siegmund did not like this--he gazed over the sea in displeasure.

'I live here--at least for the present--name, Hampson--' 'Why, weren't you one of the first violins at the Savoy fifteen years
back?' asked Siegmund.

They chatted awhile about music. They had known each other, had been
fairly intimate, and had since become strangers. Hampson excused himself
for having addressed Siegmund: 'I saw you with your nose flattened against the window,' he said, 'and
as I had mine in the same position too, I thought we were fit to be
re-acquainted.' Siegmund looked at the man in astonishment.