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Updated: May 22, 2025
Then the owner of the Gaston de Paris did what no owner ought ever to do: seeing Destruction and judging that by a bold stroke it might be out-leaped, he sprang to the engine room telegraph and flung the lever to full speed ahead. Left alone, Mademoiselle de Bromsart finished the all but completed piece of embroidery in her lap. It did not take her five minutes.
Beside her sat her niece, Cléo de Bromsart, English on the mother's side and educated in England, a girl of twenty, unmarried, dark-haired, fragile and beautiful as a dream.
They went to another bollard and there, the mariner anchoring himself, she began to talk. She introduced herself. He knew all about the Gaston de Paris and Mademoiselle de Bromsart. He put his pipe in his pocket, finding himself in such famous company. She went on.
Let us talk of something more cheerful." "Listen!" said Mademoiselle de Bromsart. "It seems to me that the engines are going slower." "You have a quick ear, mademoiselle," said the Prince, "they undoubtedly are. The Captain has reduced speed. Kerguelen is before us, or rather on our starboard bow, and daybreak will, no doubt, give us a view of it.
"And, after Kerguelen, what land shall we see next?" asked the old lady. "New Amsterdam, madame," replied the Prince, "and after that the Sunda Islands and beautiful Java with its sun and palm trees." Mademoiselle de Bromsart shivered slightly. She had been silent up to this, and she spoke now with eyes fixed far away as if viewing the picture of Java with its palms and sapphire skies.
He touched an electric bell push, attached to the table, as he spoke. "And your soundings?" asked she. "They can wait for some other time or some other man, sea depths are pretty constant." A quarter-master appeared at the saloon door, came forward and saluted. "Ask Captain Lepine to come aft," said the Prince. "I wish to speak to him." "Wait," said Mademoiselle Bromsart. Then to her host. "No.
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