He did not finish his sentence.  Shaw put his hands in his pockets, and propped his back against the sky-light, comfortably.

“They say there is going to be a war with China,” he said in a gossiping tone, “and the French are going along with us as they did in the Crimea five years ago.  It seems to me we’re getting mighty good friends with the French.  I’ve not much of an opinion about that.  What do you think, Captain Lingard?”

“I have met their men-of-war in the Pacific,” said Lingard, slowly.  “The ships were fine and the fellows in them were civil enough to me—­and very curious about my business,” he added with a laugh.  “However, I wasn’t there to make war on them.  I had a rotten old cutter then, for trade, Shaw,” he went on with animation.

“Had you, sir?” said Shaw without any enthusiasm.  “Now give me a big ship—­a ship, I say, that one may—­”

“And later on, some years ago,” interrupted Lingard, “I chummed with a French skipper in Ampanam—­being the only two white men in the whole place.  He was a good fellow, and free with his red wine.  His English was difficult to understand, but he could sing songs in his own language about ah-moor—­Ah-moor means love, in French—­Shaw.”

“So it does, sir—­so it does.  When I was second mate of a Sunderland barque, in forty-one, in the Mediterranean, I could pay out their lingo as easy as you would a five-inch warp over a ship’s side—­”

“Yes, he was a proper man,” pursued Lingard, meditatively, as if for himself only.  “You could not find a better fellow for company ashore.  He had an affair with a Bali girl, who one evening threw a red blossom at him from within a doorway, as we were going together to pay our respects to the Rajah’s nephew.  He was a good-looking Frenchman, he was—­but the girl belonged to the Rajah’s nephew, and it was a serious matter.  The old Rajah got angry and said the girl must die.  I don’t think the nephew cared particularly to have her krissed; but the old fellow made a great fuss and sent one of his own chief men to see the thing done—­and the girl had enemies—­her own relations approved!  We could do nothing.  Mind, Shaw, there was absolutely nothing else between them but that unlucky flower which the Frenchman pinned to his coat—­and afterward, when the girl was dead, wore under his shirt, hung round his neck in a small box.  I suppose he had nothing else to put it into.”

“Would those savages kill a woman for that?” asked Shaw, incredulously.

“Aye!  They are pretty moral there.  That was the first time in my life I nearly went to war on my own account, Shaw.  We couldn’t talk those fellows over.  We couldn’t bribe them, though the Frenchman offered the best he had, and I was ready to back him to the last dollar, to the last rag of cotton, Shaw!  No use—­they were that blamed respectable.  So, says the Frenchman to me:  ’My friend, if they won’t take our gunpowder for a gift let us burn it to give them