ou will
please send to M. Pinchon; they are part of the expedition. And now,"
looking at his watch, "will you do me the pleasure of staying to
_dejeuner_?"

Adams bowed.

"I will notify you to-night at your address the exact date we start," said
Captain Berselius as he led the way from the room. "It will be within a
fortnight. My yacht is lying at Marseilles, and will take us to Matadi,
which will be our base. She will be faster than the mail-boats and very
much more comfortable."

They crossed the hall, Captain Berselius opened a door, motioned his
companion to enter, and Adams found himself in a room, half morning room,
half boudoir. A bright log fire was burning, and on either side of the
fireplace two women--a girl of about eighteen and a woman of thirty-five
or so--were seated.

The elder woman, Madame Berselius, a Parisienne, pale, stout, yet
well-proportioned, with almond-shaped eyes; full lips exquisitely cut in
the form of the true cupid's bow; and with a face vigorous enough, but
veiled by an expression at once mulish, blindish, and indolent--was a
type.

The type of the poodle woman, the parasite. With the insolent expression
of a Japanese lady of rank, an insult herself to the human race, you will
see her everywhere in the highest social ranks of society. At the
Zooelogical Gardens of Madrid on a Sunday, when the grandees of Spain take
their pleasure amidst the animals at Longchamps, in Rotten Row, Washington
Square, Unter den Linden, wherever money is, growing like an evil fungus,
she flourishes.

Opposite Madame Berselius sat her daughter, Maxine.

Adams, after his first glance at the two women, saw only Maxine.

Maxine had golden-brown hair, worn after the fashion of Cleo de Merode's,
gray eyes, and a wide mouth, with pomegranate-red lips. Goethe's dictum
that the highest beauty is unobtainable without something of disproportion
was exemplified in the case of Maxine Berselius. "Her mouth is too wide,"
said the women, who, knowing nothing of the philosophy of art, hit upon
the defect that was Maxine's main charm.

Berselius introduced Adams to his wife and daughter, and scarcely had he
done so than a servant, in the blue-and-gold livery of the house, flung
open the door and announced that _dejeuner_ was served.

Adams scarcely noticed the room into which they passed; a room whose
scheme of colour was that watery green which we associate with the scenery
of early spring, the call of the cuckoo,