ey had been scattered like ornate seeds among
the crowding pine of the Landes. Of these seeds the "Continental" is the
most imposing, and, by-the-way, this climate would suit you, I should
think; it's an extraordinary combination of pine and sea air, which
would make a doctor's fortune as a tonic, if he could cork it up in
bottles.

As both hotels are run by the same management, I feared gossip if I went
down to the "Grand" and did the Doctor Jekyll act; so I cautiously
remained Mr. Hyde, alias Brown, and was a serf among other serfs. After
dining in the society of maids and valets (whose manners and
conversation would have given me ripping "copy" if I were a journalist)
I stole out to cleanse my mind with a draught of pure air and a look at
the sky. A cat may look at a king, and a _chauffeur_ may walk on a
terrace built for his betters, especially if the betters elect to shut
themselves up in stuffy drawing-rooms, with every window anxiously
closed. I availed myself of this privilege, for the hotel has a fine
terrace. As it was apparently empty, I sauntered along with my nose in
the air and my eyes on the stars, letting my footsteps take care of
themselves. Suddenly there was a startled "Oh!" in a familiar voice, and
I became aware that I had collided with the Goddess, who had also been
thinking of the stars and not of her feet--which, by-the-by, _I_ very
often think of, as they are the prettiest I ever saw.

I instantly clapped my pipe in my pocket, where it revenged itself on me
for neglecting to put it out by burning a hole through to my skin. I
apologised, and would have taken my humble chauffeury self away, but my
mistress detained me. "What is that wonderful, faraway sound, Brown?"
she asked in the delicious way she has of expecting me to know
everything, as if I were an encyclopaedia and she'd only to turn over my
leaves to come to a new fact.

I stopped breathing to listen; I'd do it permanently to please her. And
there _was_ a sound--a wonderful sound. If I hadn't been thinking about
her and the stars, I should have been conscious of it before. Out of the
night-silence the sound seemed to grow, and yet be a part of the
silence, or rather, to intensify the _near_ silence by its distant
booming, deep and ominous, like the far-off roaring of angry lions never
pacified. At first I thought it must be a rush of wind surging through
the mighty pine forest; but not a dark branch moved against the spangled
embroider