fancy them
orators whose voices failed to reach one. There was no laughter, not
even a smile.

"Give them another demijohn!" said the governor.

The juice of the grape dissolved melancholy. When the last of it had
flowed the dance was resumed. The women began a spirited _danse du
ventre_. Their eyes now sparkled, their bodies were lithe and
graceful. McHenry rushed on to the lawn and taking his place among
them copied their motions in antics that set them roaring with the
hearty roars of the conquered at the asininity of the conquerors.
They tried to continue the dance, but could not for merriment.

One of the dancers advanced toward the veranda and in a ceremonious
way kissed the governor upon the lips. That young executive was much
surprised, but returned the salute and squeezed her tiny waist. All
the company laughed at this, except Madame Bapp, who glared angrily
and exclaimed, "_Coquine!_" which means hussy.

The Marquesans have no kisses in their native love-making, but smell
one or rub noses, as do the Eskimo. Whites, however, have taught
kisses in all their variety.

The governor had the girl drink a glass of champagne. She was
perhaps sixteen years old, a charming girl, smiling, simple, and
lovely. Her skin, like that of all Marquesans, was olive, not brown
like the Hawaiians' or yellow like the Chinese, but like that of
whites grown dark in the sun. She had black, streaming hair, sloe
eyes, and an arch expression. Her manner was artlessly ingratiating,
and her sweetness of disposition was not marked by hauteur. When I
noticed that her arm was tattoed, she slipped off her dress and sat
naked to the waist to show all her adornment.

There was an inscription of three lines stretching from her shoulder
to her wrist, the letters nearly an inch in length, crowded together
in careless inartistry. The legend was as follows:

"TAHIAKEANA TEIKIMOEATIPANIE PAHAKA AVII
ANIPOENUIMATILAILI
TETUATONOEINUHAPALIILII"

These were the names given her at birth, and tattooed in her
childhood. She was called, she said, Tahiakeana, Weaver of Mats.

Seeing her success among us and noting the champagne, her companions
began to thrust forward on to the veranda to share her luck. This
angered the governor, who thought his dignity assailed. At Bauda's
order, the gendarme and Song of the Nightingale dismissed the
visitors, put McHenry to sleep under a tree, and escorted the new
executive and me to Bauda's home on the