She was a young lady, good-looking, tall, bright-complexioned, with brown eyes that had plenty of fire in them, and a pleasant smile that showed brilliant teeth.  Calabressa, sitting opposite her, judged that she was an Austrian, from the number of bags and knickknacks she had, all in red Russia leather, and from the number of trinkets she wore, mostly of polished steel or silver.  She opened a little tortoise-shell cigarette-case, took out a cigarette, and gracefully accepted the light that Calabressa offered her.  By this time the train had started, and was thundering through the night.

The young lady was very frank and affable; she talked to her companion opposite—­Reitzei being fast asleep—­about a great many things; she lit cigarette after cigarette.  She spoke of her husband moreover; and complained that he should have to go and fight in some one else’s quarrel.  Why could not ladies who went to the tables at Monte Carlo keep their temper, that a perfectly neutral third person should be summoned to fight a duel on behalf of one of them?

“You are going to rejoin him, then, madame?” said Calabressa.

“Not at all,” she said, laughing.  “I have my own affairs.”

After some time, she said, with quite a humorous smile,

“My dear sir, I hope I do not keep you from sleeping.  But you are puzzled about me; you think you have seen me before, but cannot tell where.”

“There you are perfectly right, madame.”

“Think of the day before yesterday.  You were crossing in the steamer.  You were so good as to suggest to a lady on board that nearer the centre vessel would be safer for her—­”

He stared at her again.  Could this be the same lady who, on the day that he crossed, was seated right at the stern of the steamer her brown hair flying about with the wind, her white teeth flashing as she laughed and joked with the sailors, her eyes full of life and merriment as she pitched up and down?  Calabressa, before the paroxysms of his woe overtook him, had had the bravery to go and remonstrate with this young lady, and to tell her she would be more comfortable nearer the middle of the boat; but she had laughingly told him she was a sailor’s daughter, and was not afraid of the sea.  Well, this handsome young lady opposite certainly laughed like that other, but still—­

“Oh,” she said, “do I puzzle you with such a simple thing?  My hair was brown the day before yesterday, it is black to-day; is that a sufficient disguise? Pardieu, when I went to a music-hall in London that same night to see some stupid nonsense—­bah! such stupid nonsense I have never seen in the world—­I went dressed as a man.  Only for exercise, you perceive:  one does not need disguises in London.”

Calabressa was becoming more and more mystified, and she saw it, and her amusement increased.

“Come, my friend,” she said, “you cannot deny that you also are political?”