ting of a saw.

"She is exacting," said the Frenchman, smilingly.

He was bold enough to play with her ears; he caressed her belly
and scratched her head as hard as he could. When he saw that he was
successful, he tickled her skull with the point of his dagger, watching
for the right moment to kill her, but the hardness of her bones made him
tremble for his success.

The sultana of the desert showed herself gracious to her slave; she
lifted her head, stretched out her neck and manifested her delight by
the tranquility of her attitude. It suddenly occurred to the soldier
that to kill this savage princess with one blow he must poniard her in
the throat.

He raised the blade, when the panther, satisfied no doubt, laid herself
gracefully at his feet, and cast up at him glances in which, in spite
of their natural fierceness, was mingled confusedly a kind of good will.
The poor Provencal ate his dates, leaning against one of the palm
trees, and casting his eyes alternately on the desert in quest of some
liberator and on his terrible companion to watch her uncertain clemency.

The panther looked at the place where the date stones fell, and every
time that he threw one down her eyes expressed an incredible mistrust.

She examined the man with an almost commercial prudence. However, this
examination was favorable to him, for when he had finished his meager
meal she licked his boots with her powerful rough tongue, brushing off
with marvelous skill the dust gathered in the creases.

"Ah, but when she's really hungry!" thought the Frenchman. In spite
of the shudder this thought caused him, the soldier began to measure
curiously the proportions of the panther, certainly one of the most
splendid specimens of its race. She was three feet high and four feet
long without counting her tail; this powerful weapon, rounded like
a cudgel, was nearly three feet long. The head, large as that of a
lioness, was distinguished by a rare expression of refinement. The cold
cruelty of a tiger was dominant, it was true, but there was also a vague
resemblance to the face of a sensual woman. Indeed, the face of this
solitary queen had something of the gaiety of a drunken Nero: she had
satiated herself with blood, and she wanted to play.

The soldier tried if he might walk up and down, and the panther left him
free, contenting herself with following him with her eyes, less like
a faithful dog than a big Angora cat, observing everything and every