ercier passed on slowly, with a long glance at the child. She was not
a child, really. Her cotton dress clung round her closely, and he
gazed fascinated, at the young figure, realising that it was mature.
Mature enough. A thought suddenly rose to his mind, submerging
everything else. He walked on hurriedly, and at a turn of the road,
looked back. The Kling was sitting down again impassively, refilling
his pipe.

From that time on, Mercier's days were days of torment, and the nights
as well. He struggled violently against this new feeling, this hideous
obsession, and plunged into his work violently, to escape it. But his
work, meagre and insufficient at best, was merely finished the sooner
because of his energy, which left him with more time on his hands.
That was all. Time in which to think and to struggle. No, certainly,
he did not wish to marry. That thought was put aside immediately.
Marry a stupid little child like that, with a brain as fat as her
body! But not as beautiful as her body. Besides, she was too young to
marry, even in the Tropics, where all things mate young. But there she
was, forever coming across his path at every turn. In his long walks
back into the interior, behind the settlement, he came upon her daily,
with her attendant Kling. The Kling always squatting on his heels,
smoking, or else rolling himself a bit of areca nut into a
sirrah-leaf, and dabbing on a bit of pink lime from his worn, silver
box. Mercier tried to talk to the child, to disillusion himself by
conversations which showed the paucity of ideas, her retarded
mentality. But he always ended by looking at the beautiful, slim
hands, at the beautiful, slim feet, at the cotton gown slightly
pressed outward by the maturing form within.

He was angry with himself, furious at the obsession that possessed
him. Once he entered the gravelled path of the child's home, and
seriously discussed with her mother the danger of letting her roam at
large over the island, accompanied only by the old Kling. He explained
vigorously that it was not safe. There were hundreds of paroled
prisoners at large, engaged in the ricefields, on the plantations,
mending the roads--there was not a native woman on the place. He
explained and expostulated volubly, surprised at his own eloquence.
The mother took it calmly. The Kling, she replied, was trustworthy. He
was an old man, very trustworthy and very strong. No harm could come
to her daughter under his protection.