From time to time Ruggiero, by way of a mild
hint, held up his palm to the breeze, but San Miniato did not know what
the action meant. Ruggiero trimmed the sails to suit the course chosen
by his master as well as possible, but straightway the boat was up in
the wind again if she had been going free, or was falling off if the
tacks were down and the sheets well aft. San Miniato was one of those
men who seem quite incapable of doing anything sensible from the moment
they leave the land till they touch it again, when their normal common
sense returns, and they once more become human beings.
On the other hand nothing frightened him, though he could not swim a
stroke. More than once Ruggiero allowed him almost to upset the boat in
a squall, and more than once, when, steering himself, and when there was
a fresh breeze, drove her till the seas broke over the bows, and the
green water came in over the lee gunwale--just to see whether the Count
would change colour. In this, however, he was disappointed. San
Miniato's temper might change and his tastes might be as variable as the
moon, or the weather, but his face rarely expressed anything of what he
felt, and if he felt anything at such times it was assuredly not fear.
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