o. If only to punish her ladyship for grinding you down to fifty
francs a month. What a reptile!"

"If she's a reptile, I'm a cat to plot against her."

"Do cats plot? Only against mice, I think. And anyhow, _I'm_ doing all
the plotting. I've felt a different man since yesterday. I've got
something to live for."

"Oh, _what?_" The question asked itself.

"For a comrade in misfortune. And to see her to her journey's end. I
suppose that end will be in Paris?"

"No-o," I said. "I rather think I shall go on all the way to England
with Lady Turnour--if I can stand it. There's a person in England who
will be kind to me."

"Oh!" remarked Mr. Dane, suddenly dry and taciturn again. I didn't know
what had displeased him--unless he was sorry to have my company as far
as England; yet somehow I couldn't quite believe it was that.

All this talk we had while dodging furious trams and enormous waggons
piled with merchandise, in that maelstrom of traffic near the Marseilles
docks, which must be passed before we could escape into the country. At
last, coasting down a dangerously winding hill with a too suggestively
named village at the bottom--L'Assassin--the Aigle turned westward. The
chauffeur let her spread her wings at last, and we raced along a clear
road, the Etang already shimmering blue before us, like an eye that
watched and laughed.

Then we had to swing smoothly round a great circle, to see in all its
length and breadth that strange, hidden, and fishy fairy-land of which
Martigues is the door. Once the Phoenicians found their way here,
looking for salt, which is exploited to this day; Marius camped near
enough to take his morning dip in the Etang, perhaps; and Jeanne, queen
of Naples, held Martigues for herself. But now only fish, and fishermen,
and a few artists occupy themselves in that quaint little world which
one passes all regardlessly in the flying "_Cote d'Azur_."

As we sailed round the road which rings the sleepy-looking salt lake,
Lady Turnour had a window opened on purpose to ask what on earth the
Prince of Monaco found to admire in this flat country, where there were
no fine buildings? And her rebellion made me take alarm for the success
of our future plots. But the chauffeur (anxious for the same reason,
maybe, that she should be content) explained things nicely.

Why, said he, for one thing the best fish eaten at the best restaurants
of Monte Carlo came out of the Etang de Berre. The _bouillabaise_ w