OLD ACQUAINTANCE At six o'clock on the second morning after Hillyard's visit to Barcelona, the steam-yacht _Dragonfly_ swept round the point of La Dragonera and changed her course to the south-east.

She steamed with a following breeze over a sea of darkest sapphire which broke in sparkling cascades of white and gold against the rocky creeks and promontories on the ship's port side.

Peasants working on the green terraces above the rocks stopped their work and stared as the blue ensign with the Union Jack in the corner broke out from the flagstaff at the stern.
"But it's impossible," cried one.

"Only yesterday a French mail-steamer was chased in the passage between Mallorca and Minorca.

It's impossible." Another shaded his eyes with his hand and looked upon the neat yacht with its white deck and shining brass in contemptuous pity.
"Loco Ingles," said he.
The tradition of the mad Englishman has passed away from France, but it has only leaped the Pyrenees.