were a dozen _r's_
in it. She was the daughter of Spanish colonists, and had married a
Frenchman, whose name was Pontabeze. He was in government employ, though
I never exactly knew what his functions were. I found out that he was
always very busy, and I did not care for anything else.

She then altered her time for having her bath, and came to my house
every day, to have a siesta there. What a siesta! It could scarcely be
called reposing! She was a splendid girl, of a somewhat animal, but
superb type. Her eyes were always glowing with passion; her half-open
mouth, her sharp teeth, and even her smiles, had something ferociously
loving about them; and her curious, long and straight breasts, which
were as pointed as if they had been pears of flesh, and as elastic as if
they contained steel springs, gave her whole body something of the
animal, made her a sort of inferior and magnificent being, a creature
who was destined for unbridled love, and which roused in me the idea of
those ancient deities, who gave expression to their tenderness on the
grass and under the trees.

And then, her mind was as simple as two and two are four, and a sonorous
laugh served her instead of thought.

Instinctively proud of her beauty, she hated the slightest covering, and
ran and frisked about my house with daring and unconscious immodesty.
When she was at last overcome and worn out by her cries and movements,
she used to sleep soundly and peacefully while the overwhelming heat
brought out minute spots of perspiration on her brown skin, and from
under her arms.

Sometimes she returned in the evening, when her husband was on duty
somewhere, and we used to lie on the terrace, scarcely covered by some
fine, gauzy, Oriental fabric. When the full moon lit up the town and the
gulf, with its surrounding frame of hills, we saw on all the other
terraces what looked like an army of silent phantoms lying, who would
occasionally get up, change their places, and lie down again, in the
languorous warmths of the starry sky.

But in spite of the brightness of African nights, Marroca would insist
on stripping herself almost naked in the clear rays of the moon; she did
not trouble herself much about anybody who might see us, and often, in
spite of my fears and entreaties, she uttered long, resounding cries,
which made the dogs in the distance howl.

One night, when I was sleeping under the starry sky, she came and knelt
down on my carpet, and putting her