of native tappa cloth, were hidden as much as possible by a wide feather cloak, very savage in effect, but more seemly, at any rate, than the tattered garments in which Felix had first found him in his own garden parterre.  M. Peyron, however, was fully aware of the defects of his costume, and profoundly apologetic.  “It is with ten thousand regrets, mademoiselle,” he said, many times over, bowing low and simpering, “that I venture to appear in a lady’s salon—­for, after all, wherever a European lady goes, there her salon follows her—­in such a tenue as that in which I am now compelled to present myself. Mais que voulez-vous?  Nous ne sommes pas a Paris!” For to M. Peyron, as innocent in his way as Mali herself, the whole world divided itself into Paris and the Provinces.

Nevertheless, it was touching to both the new-comers to see the Frenchman’s delight at meeting once more with civilized beings.  “Figure to yourself, mademoiselle,” he said, with true French effusion—­“figure to yourself the joy and surprise with which I, this morning, receive monsieur, your friend, at my humble cottage!  For the first time after nine years on this hateful island, I see again a European face; I hear again the sound, the beautiful sound of that charming French language.  My emotion, believe me, was too profound for words.  When monsieur was gone, I retired to my hut, I sat down on the floor, I gave myself over to tears, tears of joy and gratitude, to think I should once more catch a glimpse of civilization!  This afternoon, I ask myself, can I venture to go out and pay my respects, thus attired, in these rags, to a European lady?  For a long time I doubt, I wonder, I hesitate.  In my quality of Frenchman, I would have wished to call in civilized costume upon a civilized household.  But what would you have?  Necessity knows no law.  I am compelled to envelope myself in my savage robe of office as a Polynesian god—­a robe of office which, for the rest, is not without an interest of its own for the scientific ethnologist.  It belongs to me especially as King of the Birds, and in it, in effect, is represented at least one feather of each kind or color from every part of the body of every species of bird that inhabits Boupari.  I thus sum up, pour ainsi dire, in my official costume all the birds of the island, as Tu-Kila-Kila, the very high god, sums up, in his quaint and curious dress, the land and the sea, the trees and the stones, earth and air, and fire and water.”

Familiarity with danger begets at last a certain callous indifference.  Muriel was surprised in her own mind to discover how easily they could chat with M. Peyron on such indifferent subjects, with that awful doom of an approaching death hanging over them so shortly.  But the fact was, terrors of every kind had so encompassed them round since their arrival on the island that the mere additional certainty of a date and mode of execution was rather a relief to