"One of your English men-of-war is in the harbor, I see. She
is very pretty, but not large; not so large as many," he said.

Gordon turned his head obligingly and gazed at the yacht with
polite interest. "Is that a man-of-war? I thought it was a
yacht," he said. "I'm not familiar with the English
war-vessels. I am an American."

"Ah, indeed!" commented the affable stranger. "I am French
myself, but I think she is a man-of-war. I saw her guns when
I passed on the steamer from Gibraltar."

Gordon knew that the steamer did not pass within half a mile
of where the yacht lay at anchor, but he considered it might
be possible to see her decks with the aid of a glass.

"You may be right," he answered, indifferently. As he turned
his eyes from the boat he saw a woman, dressed in white, and
carrying a parasol, leave the gardens of the Hotel Bretagne,
and come toward them along the beach. The Frenchman,
following the direction of his eyes, saw her also, and
regarded her instantly with such evident concern that Gordon,
who had recognized her even at that distance as the Countess
Zara, felt assured that his inquisitor held, as he had already
suspected, more than a tourist's interest in Tangier.

"Well, I will wish you a good-morning," said the Frenchman,
hurriedly.

"Good-morning," Gordon replied, and taking a cigar from his