all of
which a man of gallantry like myself could not fail to do.

Well, let us fix upon Mdlle. Jasmin then,--and now we must part; time
presses. M. Kangourou will come on board to-morrow to communicate to
me the result of his first proceedings and to arrange with me for the
interview. For the present he refuses to accept any remuneration; but
I am to give him my washing, and to procure him the custom of my
brother officers of the _Triomphante_. It is all settled. Profound
bows,--they put on my boots again at the door. My djin, profiting by
the interpreter kind fortune has placed in his way, begs to be
recommended to me for future custom; his stand is on the quay; his
number is 415, inscribed in French characters on the lantern of his
vehicle (we have a number 415 on board, one Le Goelec, gunner, who
serves the left of one of my guns; happy thought, I shall remember
this); his price is sixpence the journey, or five pence an hour, for
his customers. Capital; he shall have my custom, that is promised. And
now, let us be off. The waiting-maids, who have escorted me to the
door, fall on all fours as a final salute, and remain prostrate on the
threshold--as long as I am still in sight down the dark pathway, where
the rain trickles off the great over-arching bracken upon my head.

IV.

Three days have passed. Night is closing, in an apartment which has
been mine since yesterday. Yves and I, on the first floor, move
restlessly over the white mats, striding up and down the great bare
room, of which the thin, dry flooring cracks beneath our footsteps; we
are both of us rather irritated by prolonged expectation. Yves, whose
impatience shows itself the most freely, from time to time takes a
look out of the window. As for myself, a chill suddenly seizes me, at
the idea that I have chosen, and purpose to inhabit this lonely house,
lost in the midst of the suburb of a totally strange town, perched
high on the mountain and almost opening upon the woods.

What wild notion can have taken possession of me, to settle myself in
surroundings so utterly foreign and unknown, breathing of isolation
and sadness? The waiting unnerves me, and I beguile the time by
examining all the little details of the building. The woodwork of the
ceiling is complicated and ingenious. On the partitions of white paper
which form the walls, are scattered tiny, microscopic, blue-feathered
tortoises.

"They are late," said Yves, who is still looking out int