quite cut off from all society, or only now and then included through the intermediary of her son.  It was a position that might have been ridiculous, and she made it ornamental; making believe to hear and to be entertained; her face, whenever she met our eyes, lighting with the smile of good society; her contributions to the talk, when she made any, and that was seldom, always complimentary and pleasing.  No attention was paid to the child, for instance, but what she remarked and thanked us for.  Her parting with each, when she came to leave, was gracious and pretty, as had been every step of her behaviour.  When Mrs. Stevenson held out her hand to say good-bye, Vaekehu took it, held it, and a moment smiled upon her; dropped it, and then, as upon a kindly after-thought, and with a sort of warmth of condescension, held out both hands and kissed my wife upon both cheeks.  Given the same relation of years and of rank, the thing would have been so done on the boards of the Comedie Francaise; just so might Madame Brohan have warmed and condescended to Madame Broisat in the Marquis de Villemer.  It was my part to accompany our guests ashore:  when I kissed the little girl good-bye at the pier steps, Vaekehu gave a cry of gratification, reached down her hand into the boat, took mine, and pressed it with that flattering softness which seems the coquetry of the old lady in every quarter of the earth.  The next moment she had taken Stanislao’s arm, and they moved off along the pier in the moonlight, leaving me bewildered.  This was a queen of cannibals; she was tattooed from hand to foot, and perhaps the greatest masterpiece of that art now extant, so that a while ago, before she was grown prim, her leg was one of the sights of Tai-o-hae; she had been passed from chief to chief; she had been fought for and taken in war; perhaps, being so great a lady, she had sat on the high place, and throned it there, alone of her sex, while the drums were going twenty strong and the priests carried up the blood-stained baskets of long-pig.  And now behold her, out of that past of violence and sickening feasts, step forth, in her age, a quiet, smooth, elaborate old lady, such as you might find at home (mittened also, but not often so well-mannered) in a score of country houses.  Only Vaekehu’s mittens were of dye, not of silk; and they had been paid for, not in money, but the cooked flesh of men.  It came in my mind with a clap, what she could think of it herself, and whether at heart, perhaps, she might not regret and aspire after the barbarous and stirring past.  But when I asked Stanislao—­’Ah!’ said he, ’she is content; she is religious, she passes all her days with the sisters.’