had done that chap in, and as for any idea of being under an obligation
to her for food or housing he had none. He would have done the same for
her.

Yet, to tell the truth, the docks, with no money in his pocket and the
cold prospect of brilliant Marseilles, had made him feel adrift like a
lost child. Civilisation had affected him as it had affected her, so
that something, now, made him put his hand on her shoulder to get the
touch of her, and she, knowing that every eye in all that party behind
her was upon them, took the great hand and held it and patted it.

It was as well to take her stand at once, though she was scarcely
bothering about that. Then, still holding his hand, she came along that
white deck towards the gang-plank. The officers knew and, as they bade
her good-bye, they nodded to Raft, but the Parisians knew nothing but
that Cleo had gone clearly mad--and that that awful sailor had placed
his hand on her shoulder, familiarly!

There were several automobiles waiting by the wharf and Madame de Brie,
half-dumb and slightly agitated, having pointed out the car she had
reserved for Cleo, the girl introduced Raft.

"This is Raft who saved my life," said Cleo.

Then she took Raft by the arm and pushed him into the seat beside the
chauffeur; having done that, she got into the car, following Madame de
Brie. The Comtesse de Mirandole got in, also, followed by Monsieur de
Brie and his gold eye glasses.

The mistral was blowing so that the windows of the car had to be kept
closed.

Used to fresh air, the girl nearly choked at first with the stuffiness
of the car. The olfactory nerve is really a prolongation of the brain,
as though the brain, distrusting the other senses, had pushed out a
trustworthy scout to see what the world and its contents were really
like. The sense of smell never lies; it is of all senses the truest and
it handed along without comment to the brain of Cleo the faint perfume
of the stephanotis affected by Madame de Brie and of the Yoya-yoya
affected by the Comtesse de Mirandole, also traces from the varnish and
upholstery of the car.

"Who, my dear, is that man," asked Madame de Brie. She had almost said
"that dreadful man" but she had checked herself.

"Man--Oh, that is Raft. He saved my life."

"How delightful," said the Countess, "and he seems quite a character."

"Quite," said Madame de Brie half-heartedly, "but my dear Cleo, you will
excuse an old woman for suggesting it, you