FATALITAS

CHÉRI-BIBI went on deck at the moment when the Top, promoted to the rank of chief helmsman, was receiving instructions from one of the old crew who had been forced to serve as helmsman, and was shouting to the man at the wheel:

“Hard a starboard.... Give way....”

The chief engineer at the same time gave orders in the engine room:

“Ease her.... Three-quarter speed.”

A number of inquisitive persons had already crowded on deck. Chéri-Bibi burst through them with scant ceremony and in three bounds was on the bridge yelling:

“What do I care about shipwrecked sailors? Aren’t there enough people in the cages?”

He asked for a telescope and levelled it on a white object, a long-boat which could now be seen very distinctly on the calm blue sea. The weather was superb and was rendered all the more perfect by a hot sun which was pouring down on the poor survivors in the frail boat, perhaps stricken with thirst. The boat was at most three cable-lengths away, less than a third of a mile ahead, and the _Bayard_ was rapidly nearing her.

Chéri-Bibi had his eye fixed to the telescope.

“_Fatalitas._” The word suddenly slipped out, to the astonishment of his officers, who were standing by. What had the Captain discovered through the glass?

Chéri-Bibi was no longer using it. He looked up quite pale, muttering incoherent words.

Then he placed the telescope in the field of vision again, glued his eye to it, kept it there for a while, and this time looked up with glowing cheeks. There was no mistake about it. Chéri-Bibi was in a state of high glee.

“_Fatalitas_,” he repeated, “but it is all to the good.” Fate, it was obvious, was continuing to play tricks with him, but it would appear that on this occasion he was by no means dissatisfied.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “we are going to the assistance of those poor shipwrecked sailors.”

Standing around him were the Toper, his lieutenant, the Dodger, his sub-lieutenant, the Top, Little Buddha and the “principal” erstwhile members of his cage.

“Get your men together,” he said, “all of them, and tell them that fortune favors us by sending us shipwrecked persons whom, I hope, we may turn to good account. It’s a matter that concerns me. But for the time being my order is for each one of you to remember his rank and new position. Let there be no blunders. No change has occurred on board the _Bayard_ since she left the Ile de Ré, nothing except a grave mutiny among the convicts, who were eventually brought to book and are again in their cages. I am more than ever Captain Barrachon. As to Captain Barrachon, he is Chéri-Bibi.”

The staff burst into a fit of laughter.

“Laugh to your heart’s content,” said Chéri-Bibi, “for presently you will have to be serious. Do you follow me? Well, let every one bear this in mind: I will hang, with short shrift, the first man who doesn’t behave himself properly. You can take my word for it.”

They needed no second warning. They quickly left the bridge, and soon the bugle rang out on deck. When the crew received the word of command there was an indescribable feeling of elation. It was an unexpected interlude which the convicts greatly enjoyed. Only fancy, women were in the boat, and they would show them how they bore themselves in uniform, and that convicts could be smart enough when the occasion offered. They were immensely grateful to Chéri-Bibi for devising this new farce which promised to afford them a delightful entertainment. The ascendancy which the new Captain exercised over this confraternity of thieves was enormously enhanced by it.

At all events here was a chief who knew how to laugh, and understood life. No one was likely to be dull with him in command.

Matters were arranged in accordance with Chéri-Bibi’s instructions. The _Bayard_ gradually drew near the boat, whence could be heard exclamations of joy, shouts of “bravo,” and enthusiastic salutations. It was noticed that ten persons were in her: seven passengers and three sailors. A piece of linen fastened to one end of an oar was used as a signal.

The convicts were particularly delighted that three women passengers were in the boat, and, indeed, they appeared to be very attractive women.

“Oh, lovely women!” exclaimed Little Buddha, whose enthusiasm received a check when the Toper gave him a sound kick to remind him that he must be on his best behavior.

Oddly enough the survivors seemed by no means to be starving or unduly exhausted. Nor did they have the haggard look of persons who have just escaped a watery grave.

The women, for instance, were well and full of spirits, and dressed in good taste, their heads elegantly covered with wraps; and they looked just as they might have looked after a pleasant row on a lake.

Standing upright among the survivors was a tall, powerful, broad-shouldered man; one of those persons who, as it were, displace a considerable amount of atmosphere when they move. His full face and ruddy complexion, which was not devoid of a suggestion of aristocracy owing to the shape of his nose, which was the Bourbon nose, seemed to be that of a country squire and sportsman. Above his blue eyes were bushy brows, auburn in color, which lent some degree of hardness to a countenance whose heavy outline might otherwise have indicated good-nature.

Chéri-Bibi, leaning on the bridge, kept his eyes fixed on him. And if the entire crew of bandits had not likewise been watching the boat, they would have been astonished to see the singularly fierce look which overspread Chéri-Bibi’s face while the _Bayard_ crept nearer the survivors. His jaws were thrust out in menace, and he hissed between his clenched teeth the name “Maxime du Touchais!”

Chéri-Bibi drew himself up, mastering the excitement which impelled him straightway to rush at the throat of the man who had been, and who still was, the torturer of her whom he loved best in the world; of Cecily, the ideal being who had never ceased to shine through the blood-stained mystery of his life.... And he repressed the emotion which moved him to cry aloud with joy at the thought of the revenge that was so near.... Cecily’s husband!

“It’s my sister’s God who has sent this man to me for punishment as he might have sent him to the devil.”

How he hated him, this handsome gentleman, who had the right to go near his idol while he had never dared look at her but from afar, nor speak to her in the glad days of his youth but with lowered head and trembling voice....

How he hated him when he thought that this man had held her in his arms and made her suffer....

Chéri-Bibi grinned as the demons in the depths of Dante’s Inferno grinned.... And he strode towards the guests whose arrival was so opportune.

He was completely himself now in his new part as Captain of the ship. He ordered the accommodation ladder to be set up, and here he waited for his guests who were climbing out of the boat with the assistance of his men. The first man to step on to the accommodation ladder wrested from Chéri-Bibi the muffled exclamation: “Robert Bourrelier!”

So Fate had delivered the entire family into his hands!

He started back.

He seemed less satisfied this time. Not only had he no cause of quarrel with Cecily’s brother, but the fact that he was her brother would, in itself, prevent him from entertaining any evil intentions towards him. His chief fear now was lest he should be recognized by him.

He had no cause for apprehension as far as Maxime du Touchais was concerned, for it was certain that the Marquis had never cast a glance at the humble butcher’s boy from Le Pollet. Robert Bourrelier, on the other hand, used to spend some weeks of his holidays in Puys with his parents, and might well have retained some recollection of the “gardener’s youngster.”

Chéri-Bibi took courage again when, not without reason, he reflected that he had greatly changed since those days, and that the amazing ups and downs of his anything but commonplace life had endowed him with a different physiognomy. In any event the experiment was one which he ought to make.

He had to reckon on the publicity which the great daily papers had thrust upon his alarming personality during his crimes; but in that regard he had been assisted by the poor quality of the photographs, and the indifferent character of the reproductions used by the newspapers to make his image known to a terrified world. Moreover, the newspapers had pictured a very ugly person, a sort of composite photograph of ugliness, and they had grossly exaggerated, for the purpose of selling their papers, the general brutality of his appearance. It was he and yet it was not quite he. There were moments, moments of crises and moments of violent passion, when it was perhaps he, but it was not he at moments of happiness such as he experienced then when, with the rank of Captain in the navy, he was preparing to extend hospitality to the person whom he hated most in the world after the man in the gray hat.

But the die was cast. Robert Bourrelier appeared in the gangway.

Chéri-Bibi played his game with perfect assurance.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, with a pomposity which was slightly ludicrous, “I am very pleased to see you on board my ship.” And he held out his hand to Cecily’s brother, who shook it with an unmistakable expression of gratitude.

Robert Bourrelier seemed to have suffered from the strain more than any of the others. The health of this tall, gawky young man was obviously precarious, and the dissipated life which he had led from the days of his early manhood clearly marked him down for an early grave.

“Anyway,” thought Chéri-Bibi, “the Marquis won’t have to wait very long for his inheritance.”

He was quite content with the experiment. Robert had not started in surprise. And then, of course, how could he possibly dream of meeting the terrible Chéri-Bibi in the uniform of this friendly Captain in the French navy?

Next the ladies came on deck, and then Maxime du Touchais, followed by the rest of the survivors.

Before the Captain could say another word of welcome the Marquis, waiving aside all offers of help of which the newcomers did not appear to be in any urgent need, placed the officers of the _Bayard_ in possession of the facts of the disaster.

They were the victims of the recent storm which had wellnigh proved fatal to the _Bayard_. The Marquis and his guests were returning from Buenos Ayres to France in the _Belle of Dieppe_ when at two o’clock in the morning, during a tremendous gale, the yacht, which answered her helm only with great difficulty, came into collision with a ship which she must have seriously damaged. The storm, which continued to increase, tore asunder the two ships as swiftly as it had caused them to collide, and in the darkness they soon lost sight of the other vessel.

The _Belle of Dieppe_ was in evil case for there was a large rent in the bows and an inrush of water against which it was impossible to battle. The forward part was already sinking slowly beneath the waves. Maxime ordered the boats to be lowered. Fortunately these were numerous enough to carry all the crew and the few passengers who leapt into them in spite of the raging sea.

But death seemed as certain and as near in those frail craft as on the yacht. The Marquis, seeing things as they were, refused at the last moment to leave the vessel, stating that if it came to a choice of deaths he preferred to die comfortably in one of the _Belle of Dieppe’s_ cabins. Several of his friends, the women especially, agreed with him, observing, moreover, that during the last few minutes the vessel had ceased its downward course into the abyss. Perhaps the watertight bulkheads would hold.... Thus he and a few others remained behind while the boats disappeared into the murky night.

The bulkheads did, in fact, hold. They held for three days, which was long enough for the great storm to subside, for the demoralized sea to become like an azure lake, for the sky to sweep away its dark clouds, and for the passengers who remained on board to prepare the two boats for the moment when they would of necessity have to abandon the _Belle of Dieppe_; an event which occurred scarcely two hours earlier in a perfectly calm sea and without the shadow of anxiety, for the Marquis knew that they were near the route followed by the great liners sailing to the Antilles or South America.

The _Belle of Dieppe_ vanished beneath the waves, strewing the sea with wreckage which before long they saw. There was no trace of the other boats, whose fate must have already been sealed, for either they had perished or been picked up as the long-boat was picked up with Maxime du Touchais and his companions. That was all.

Thereupon the Marquis introduced them.

He began with the ladies. First came Mlle. Nadège de Valrieu, a tall, handsome, but rather stout blonde who must have been known by hearsay to the Captain and his officers because her talents as an actress, although she was still young, had brought her fame in both hemispheres. Then came Mlle. Carmen de Fontainebleau, who was young and dark and lively, and was already addressing her smiles to the crew. She was the celebrated æsthetique dancer who had achieved renown in her “love waltzes.” The third lady was of elegant and distinguished appearance, though her manner of gazing at people and things through her lorgnette had more than a suggestion of haughtiness about it. She was Madame d’Artigues, a literary star, and was accompanied by her husband, a brilliant society journalist and dramatic critic, well known in the Paris press under the pseudonym of Charles des Premières. Then came M. Robert Bourrelier, and finally Baron Proskof, a Polish nobleman, who was married to “the most beautiful woman in Paris,” but who could no longer boast of that distinction inasmuch as the dear Baroness had insisted on embarking in one of the small boats, too frail to fight against the tumultuous seas.

“The Baron is very much upset and so am I,” concluded Maxime du Touchais.

The freedom with which the Marquis spoke of the poor Baroness, who was certainly no more, and to whom he had paid considerable court, if gossip in Dieppe could be believed, was repugnant to Chéri-Bibi, who always had a sense of family life.

Chéri-Bibi did not take long, on his side, in his introductions. He pointed to the officers and crew as a whole and declared in a rasping voice that they on board the _Bayard_ were glad to show hospitality to such agreeable guests. He did not for the time being enter into any further particulars.

Du Touchais and Bourrelier imagined, from a first glance, that they had been picked up by a troopship, the Captain of which was a worthy man somewhat lacking in polish. As a matter of fact the sight of Chéri-Bibi trying his hand at politeness was a remarkable one. The word “agreeable” coming from him contrasted strangely with the ugly grimace of his mouth and the amazing smile which he assumed for the benefit of the ladies.

His manner of being amiable, or of wishing to appear so, was so brusque that the ladies could not refrain from smiling. Chéri-Bibi noticed the smile, and it wounded him in his innermost self, for he was not without a considerable amount of self-esteem as the phrase goes.

The Marquis, observing that he turned scarlet and made a wry face, realized that he had to deal with a “touchy sea-dog.” He determined to put him at ease, and he gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder.

“Captain,” he said with a great affectation of cordiality, “we are sworn friends to the death. You were our last hope.... The Marquis du Touchais never forgets!” And he shook him warmly by the hand.

Chéri-Bibi remained passive while he rolled his small eyes in which there was a look that boded no good, and murmured aside: “Yes, old bluffer, to the death, as you say!”

He determined to conduct the ladies to the best cabins, the occupants of which had been ordered to pack up and begone in five seconds; and overcoming his feelings of antipathy and hatred he was particularly friendly towards Robert Bourrelier and Maxime du Touchais.

As they crossed the deck the ladies were greatly surprised to perceive so many disabled sailors and soldiers, with such rough and resolute faces under their tam-o’-shanters and _képis_, staring at them as they went past with an eager and fiery gaze.

“Have you been fighting, Captain?” inquired the beautiful Madame d’Artigues.

“You couldn’t have made a better guess, dear lady,” returned Chéri-Bibi. “We have been fighting. We’ve had a mutiny on board.”

“Mutiny on board!” they exclaimed in one breath.... “Oh, tell us about it.... But how awful!”

“Mutiny on board a troopship!” exclaimed the Marquis. “You don’t mean to say so. Isn’t there such a thing as discipline in our navy?... Obviously everything’s going to the dogs. I hope, Captain, you had no great difficulty in getting the better of the mutineers.”

“Ugh! We had to shoot and hang a good few of them,” replied the Captain rather vaguely.

“But what you tell us is very funny,” cried the charming Mlle. Carmen de Fontainebleau. “A shipwreck ... a mutiny on boardship.... What a succession of adventures!”

“Well, we shall have plenty to talk about when we get back to France,” said Mlle. Nadège de Valrieu.

The entire French nobility would seem to have met on board the _Bayard_.

“We shan’t be in France yet a while,” Chéri-Bibi thought it well to observe.

“Where are we making for then?”

“Yes, by the way, where are you landing us, Captain?”

“In Cayenne, ladies and gentlemen, at your service.”

“Cayenne? Are you bound for Cayenne?”

“Why, yes, Marquis, with a shipload of criminals, scamps of convicts, and we’ve had our work cut out with them, I assure you.”

“Convicts! Oh, good gracious!” exclaimed the ladies, more and more interested. “Where are they? They can’t do us any harm, can they?”

“Don’t be alarmed. We’ve got a tight hold of them now. They’re not allowed out of their cages. The first one who budged ... we’d smash his jaw.... I beg your pardon ... saving your presence.”

“Well done, Captain.... We’re too easy going with that sort of game. Ought we to be saddled with such villains? I bet you that half the men in the cages would be guillotined under a proper government.”

“Half of them at least,” said Chéri-Bibi, “to say nothing of Chéri-Bibi, who is here.”

“What do you say?... Chéri-Bibi.... Chéri-Bibi on board!... Is it a fact, Captain, that you have Chéri-Bibi with you? Oh, what a piece of luck! Let’s have a look at him at once.”

At that moment the men were bringing up the baggage belonging to the survivors, and Chéri-Bibi turned round. He felt as though he were being scorched by a look, and he saw the Countess standing in front of him. At first he did not recognize this refined, elegant and graceful looking woman who was attired in a perfectly fashionable traveling costume made by a first-rate ladies’ tailor. It was a present which he himself had given her that very morning as an acknowledgment of her services in helping him to escape, and, later, during the stress of the fight.

In his wanderings through the holds Chéri-Bibi had ripped open a large case intended for society ladies in Cayenne, the wives of the officials, and he found in it a great selection of finery--costumes, dresses, underlinen. He gave the whole of the contents to the Countess there and then. “Now we are quits,” he thought. “She won’t worry me any more.” He was mistaken, for the Countess appreciated the gift only in so far as those adornments could make her more beautiful in Chéri-Bibi’s eyes.

She was another person who was in love with him, excited by his fame; and he had been forced to repulse her in the darkness of the store-rooms.... The Countess had not lost sight of him since the long-boat was signaled; and she was a witness of his agitation, his restlessness, and finally of the malicious delight which inwardly possessed him.

It was obvious that he knew the survivors. At first she imagined that he was interested in the ladies, and she showed her claws as if she would tear their eyes out. But she soon realized that his main concern was with the Marquis du Touchais. What was the connection between those two men? She made up her mind to know the truth before long.

“My dear Captain,” said the Countess in a voice of peculiar sweetness which was new to him, “I am told that you have given my cabin to these ladies. Allow me to say that I am very pleased to hear it. It’s the best cabin in the ship.”

The ladies uttered a general protest. Was it true? They wouldn’t hear of it. How could they think of such a thing.... They had no wish to disturb any one. And so on and so forth.

“Let me introduce you to the Countess,” said Chéri-Bibi, playing the gentleman.

The ladies flocked round to press her hand. The Countess! So there was a countess on board. The Countess of what? They dared not put the question. They regarded the introduction as somewhat lacking in detail, and Maxime du Touchais and Robert Bourrelier turned away from Chéri-Bibi to hide a smile. Oh, these old sea-dogs did not waste overmuch time in polite phrases, nor care a rap for forms and ceremonies.... Here’s the Countess. Good morning.... Good evening. Would that do? And, in truth, it was enough for them. Besides, she seemed very ladylike did the Countess. Nevertheless, Chéri-Bibi, after a moment’s reflection, thought it well to add that she was going out to her husband in Brazil.

“Did you see the mutiny, Countess?” asked Mlle. Carmen de Fontainebleau.

“As plainly I see you now,” replied the Countess in her best society manner.

It was she who wished to proceed with the accommodation of her new friends. She proved so gracious and charming and kind that they were captivated by her on the spot. She placed her entire wardrobe at their disposal; and they did not conceal their satisfaction, for they had been able to bring with them in the long-boat only the strictest necessities. They were filled with admiration for the luxurious manner in which the Countess was equipped.

They dressed themselves for lunch, which was delayed an hour at their request, and entered the Captain’s dining-room “arrayed in all their glory.”

Meanwhile the men had strolled round the deck. They came back in a state of astonishment, having observed a number of things that would help them to keep the conversation alive. Lunch, which was presided over by Chéri-Bibi, was transformed into a great banquet to which the officers were invited, and at which room had to be found for the “principal persons who distinguished themselves in the recent fighting.” They had begged the Captain to grant them that honor for once. They were not all wearing officers’ uniform, but men, like Little Buddha, who were dressed as ordinary seamen or petty officers, were placed at small tables--“to reward them for their good conduct,” as Chéri-Bibi explained. They were satisfied as long as they could see and hear and admire the ladies.

The Captain, who was fully aware of the dangerous frame of mind into which the crew had been thrown by the arrival of these society ladies on board, had succeeded, for the time being, in calming their excitement by letting them know that the ladies would be present at the festivity which was in preparation for that evening, and that if they behaved themselves he would allow the ladies to dance with them. He took the opportunity of informing them that if they failed to conduct themselves properly they would have him to reckon with.

The Dodger himself kept an eye on the various dishes, and looked after, in particular, the cod with tomato sauce flavored with herbs of which Chéri-Bibi was very fond. The Top, who had an excellent hand, wrote out several copies of the menu. The entire company were in good humor and exceedingly hungry. Accordingly, to begin with, they did full justice to a savory and appetizing joint of beef.

Chéri-Bibi ate very little, taking care that each man should have his share, and that the wines should flow without stint. Moreover, he was not a little impressed by his new part as the host receiving his guests, and he had no wish to “put his foot in it” before his men, who were watching him with curiosity. Seated on one side of him was Madame d’Artigues and on the other Mlle. Nadège de Valrieu, while facing him was the Countess. Maxime du Touchais was placed a little to the left, next to Mlle. Carmen de Fontainebleau, so that he had to lean forward to see him, for he had no wish to be embarrassed while he was eating. In this way he seemed to have postponed for the present any serious encounter with him.

The meal had passed off quite well up to then. The Top, from the financiers’ cage, who knew something about the sort of people present, having robbed them to the advantage of high-class restaurants and night taverns, kept watch over the general arrangements of the lunch; that is to say, over its proper service.

“This food is really delicious,” declared Mlle. Nadège de Valrieu.

“It’s a tip-top cut of chump of beef,” explained Chéri-Bibi. “Please do have some more.”

She accepted another helping with such gusto that Chéri-Bibi, repelled by the young lady’s greediness, ended by observing to her that “no one was waiting for the table.” And he turned his attention to Madame d’Artigues, who was a perfect woman of the world and must have suffered greatly during the voyage from the presence of the younger ladies forced upon her by the Marquis’s whim. The Captain perceived that Madame d’Artigues was casting sheep’s eyes at the Marquis, while her husband was pretending not to be aware of the fact. Chéri-Bibi assumed that Madame d’Artigues was striving to take the place in the Marquis du Touchais’s heart, left vacant by the recent loss of the Baroness de Proskof, and that her husband would not be sorry to hand over his wife to this rich man if the latter were disposed to pay the price that he had paid for the Baroness.

These mercenary calculations into the scene of which Chéri-Bibi’s fantastic destiny had thrown him, induced a feeling of small respect for “the privileged classes,” for whom, for that matter, he had always felt but scant admiration. He wanted, with the help of champagne, to forget present intrigues; to fly beyond the seas and to dream of Cecily’s angelic face, of the virtuous wife and perfect mother devoted to the duties of her home. What would he not have given to see her seated by his side in preference to those perfumed dolls who had never known the meaning of the word virtue.

“In the meantime, old chap, your wife is carrying on with some other ...”

The words burst like a thunderclap on Chéri-Bibi’s reverie. They were flung at the Marquis, in a burst of laughter, by the mistress of the lanky Robert, who at once requested Mlle. Nadège de Valrieu to moderate her language.

Chéri-Bibi became as pale as a ghost.

“It’s not true,” he cried.

At once every eye was turned on him, and the guests exchanged glances; and then there was an outburst of gayety.

The Countess took up the running.

“What did you say?”

“I?” exclaimed Chéri-Bibi in a blank voice. “I ... I didn’t say anything.”

It seemed to him, in fact, that he had not spoken, but that it was some one else ... some one else who uttered those words which he, like the rest of them, had caught.... He did not enter into any further explanation. He was fiercely silent, feeling intensely that he could not be too silent successfully to master the rage which consumed him against the wretched creatures who had dared to insult his idol; against the baseness of the Marquis who had expressed no indignation, nor uttered even a protest, fully occupied as he was, doubtless, with the airs and graces of Madame d’Artigues; against the brother who had not struck down the hussy for speaking in such terms of his sister.

The Countess interposed with wonderful cleverness and tact, and with the grace of a great lady whom nothing can disconcert and who utters the exact word that is needed in the most difficult situations. She paid a great compliment to Chéri-Bibi, to his rough exterior and his golden heart, his fine conscience and the many qualities which made of him a “veritable French knight-errant.”

Never had she heard him speak ill of women, and he strained points of honor to such an extent that he would not allow others to speak ill of them in his presence. In truth the Countess was astonishing. She had amazed her fellow-prisoners by her command of the lowest form of speech, and now she was expressing herself “in society” with the utmost elegance.... Unfortunately her charming intervention on his behalf had no other effect than to turn the conversation on poor Cecily.

“Well, be careful, for it won’t be long before she is carrying on with....”

Nadège de Valrieu and Carmen de Fontainebleau were at one in hinting that M. de Pont-Marie’s assiduities in regard to the Marchioness du Touchais were self-interested. They knew him of old, that particular bird; and he would never have remained behind unless he had found something to interest him.

“Well, between ourselves, he isn’t difficult to please,” ended Mlle. Nadège de Valrieu, who, as the mistress of Cecily’s brother, could not endure the Bourrelier family. “The last time I saw her in Dieppe was when I was coming back from the races. She was wearing a hat!... I fancy I see myself wearing one like it....”

Carmen added her quota.

“Look here, she’s not so very plain.”

“You’re too funny when you talk like that,” said the Marquis, and he burst into laughter.

Chéri-Bibi was suffering like a soul in pain, and such he was, but never from his earliest days had he borne such torment. His punishments as a convict were caresses on his thick skin compared with the searing of his soul at that moment, the soul of Chéri-Bibi. The Countess was startled by the sight of him. She feared for a while lest he should fall stone dead in the middle of the banquet. And then by slow degrees his color returned ... returned with a smile.

“Very soon,” thought Chéri-Bibi, “very soon, Mlles. Nadège and Carmen, I will hand you ... you who are not so very plain ... over to my men. And as to you, Maxime du Touchais, as to you, I shall have to think of something ... think of something.”

His eyes encountered the gaze of the Kanaka, who had not hitherto uttered a word, and he recalled the ugly story which ran through the cages about that peculiar individual.

“Very soon I’ll hand you over to the tender mercies of the Kanaka.”

That was the reason why Chéri-Bibi was now smiling.