When the _Dom Pedro_ had been on the high seas not more than a week,
Letitia was forced to the sorrowful conclusion that Friedrich Pestel
was not the right man for her.
She desired a man of imaginative ardour and impassioned soul. In face
of the unending sea and the starry vault of heaven, a fadeless yearning
had reawakened in her, and she told Pestel frankly and honestly that
she could not be happy with him. Pestel was overwhelmed with amazement.
He did not answer, and became melancholy.
Among the passengers there was an Austrian engineer who had been
building railroads in Peru and was on his way home. His boldly romantic
appearance and happy faculty of anecdote delighted Letitia. She could
not let him perceive it on account of the other passengers who took
her to be Pestel’s wife. But the engineer, who was something of an
adventurer and courageous, had his own thoughts.
In spite of his genuine pain and disappointment, Pestel reproached
himself for having bought the expensive first-cabin tickets for
Letitia, the nurse, and the twins, and a second-cabin passage for the
Indian boy, out of his own pocket. In addition he had, just before
their departure and in all haste, bought several frocks and some linen
for the woman whom he had saved from captivity, and to whom, as he
thought, he was about to be united for life.
The Indian boy was sea-sick and also home-sick, and Letitia promised to
send him back to the Argentine from Genoa.
Among the other passengers who regarded Letitia with a vivid eye was
an American journalist who had spent several months in Brazil. He was
witty, wrote clever verses, organized parties and dances, and soon
seemed as charming to Letitia as the Austrian engineer. Between these
two little skirmishes of jealousy took place, and each felt the other
to be an obstacle.
One night they were the last guests at the bar; neither wanted to turn
in, and they agreed to throw dice for a bottle of claret.
The Austrian lost.
The bottle arrived. The American filled the glasses; they drank, leaned
back and smoked, looked searchingly at each other from time to time,
and said nothing.
Suddenly the Yankee, still holding his pipe between his teeth, said:
“Nice woman.”
“Charming,” the Austrian agreed.
“Has a strong sense of humour for a German.”
The engineer thoughtfully blew rings of smoke. “She is altogether
delightful,” he said.
They fell silent again. Then the American said: “Isn’t it rather absurd
of us to spoil each other’s chances? Let us throw dice, and abide by
that!”
“Very well, let us do so,” the engineer agreed. He took the dice-box,
shook it, and emptied it. The little cubes rattled down on the marble.
“Eighteen,” the engineer announced, astonished at his own good fortune.
The other gathered up the dice, also shook the box, let the dice glide
on the table-top, and calmly announced “Eighteen!” He was equally
unable--with more reason of course--to hide his astonishment.
The two men felt rather helpless. They were careful not to repeat their
question to fate. They finished their wine, and separated with all due
courtesy.
Letitia lay abed with wide-open eyes and listened to the throb of the
engines, the soft crashing of the walls of the ship, and the humming
of Eleutheria, who was soothing the twins in the adjoining stateroom.
She thought of Genoa, the fast approaching goal of her voyage; and
her imagination showed her gorgeously clad grandees and romantic
conspirators in the style of Fiesco of Genoa, and torch-lit alleys and
adventures of love and passion. Life seemed to her aglow with colour,
and the future a gate of gold.