vorced from what we call human
reason, that connect together the objects that form our environment."

"Is this a theory of your own, Epinard?" asked the Prince.

"It is, monsieur, and it may be bad or good but I adhere to it."

"You mean to say that man is composed entirely of environment, past and
present?"

"Yes, monsieur, you have caught my meaning exactly. Past and present.
Man is nothing more than a concretion formed from emanations of all the
objects whose emanations have impinged upon living tissue since, at the
beginning of the world, living tissue was formed. He is the sunset he
saw a million years ago, the water he swam in when he was a fish, the
knight in armour he fought with when he was an ancestor, or rather he is
a concretion of the light, touch and sound vibrations from these and a
million other things. I have written the matter fully out in a thesis,
which I hope to publish some day."

"Well, you may put my name down for a dozen copies," said the Prince,
"for certainly the theory is less mad than some of the theories I have
come across explaining the origin of mind."

"But what has all that to do with the ship?" asked Madame de Warens.

"Simply, madame, that the ship which one looked at as a structure of
canvas and wood, once seen by Mademoiselle de Bromsart, has become part
of her mind, just as it has become part of yours and mine, a logical and
definite part of our minds; now, mark me, there was also the sunset and
the storm clouds, those objects also became part of the mind of
Mademoiselle de Bromsart, and the reasons interlying between all these
objects produced in her a definite and painful impression. They were, in
fact, all thinking something which she interpreted."

"It seemed to me," said the girl, "that I saw Loneliness itself, and for
the first time, and I felt just now that it was following me. It was to
escape from that absurd phantom that I suggested to Monsieur le Prince
that we should alter our course."

"Well," said Madame de Warens, "your will has conquered the Phantom. Let
us talk of something more cheerful."

"Listen!" said Mademoiselle de Bromsart. "It seems to me that the
engines are going slower."

"You have a quick ear, mademoiselle," said the Prince, "they undoubtedly
are. The Captain has reduced speed. Kerguelen is before us, or rather
on our starboard bow, and daybreak will, no doubt, give us a view of it.
We do not want to be too close to it in the dark hours, tha