I was interested, a little incredulous, and considerably surprised. What could this man with such a boulevardier exterior that he looked positively like an exile in a provincial town, and with his drawingroom mannerwhat could he know of negroes?

Mills, sitting silent with his air of watchful intelligence, seemed to read my thoughts, waved his pipe slightly and explained: ``The Captain is from South Carolina.''

`Òh,'' I murmured, and then after the slightest of pauses I heard the second of Mr. J. K. Blunt's declarations.

``Yes,'' he said. ``_Je suis Americain, catholique et gentilhomme,_'' in a tone contrasting so strongly with the smile, which, as it were, underlined the uttered words, that I was at a loss whether to return the smile in kind or acknowledge the words with a grave little bow. Of course I did neither and there fell on us an odd, equivocal silence. It marked our final abandonment of the French language, I was the one to speak first, proposing that my companions should sup with me, not across the way, which would be riotous with more than onèìnfernal'' supper, but in another much more select establishment in a side street away from the

Cannebiere. It flattered my vanity a little to be able to say that I had a corner table always reserved in the

Salon des Palmiers. otherwise Salon Blanc, where the atmosphere was legitimist and extremely decorous besideseven in Carnival time. ``Nine tenths of the people there,'' I said, ``would be of your political opinions, if that's an inducement. Come along. Let's be festive,'' I encouraged them.

I didn't feel particularly festive, What I wanted was to remain in my company and break an inexplicable feeling of constraint of which I was aware. Mills looked at me steadily with a faint, kind smile.

Page 10

The Arrow of Gold

PART ONE

8

``No,'' said Blunt. ``Why should we go there? They will be only turning us out in the small hours, to go home and face insomnia. Can you imagine anything more disgusting?''

He was smiling all the time, but his deepset eyes did not lend themselves to the expression of whimsical politeness which he tried to achieve. He had another suggestion to offer. Why shouldn't we adjourn to his rooms? He had there materials for a dish of his own invention for which he was famous all along the line of the Royal Cavalry outposts, and he would cook it for us. There were also a few bottles of some white wine, quite possible, which we could drink out of Venetian cutglass goblets. A _bivouac_ feast, in fact. And he wouldn't turn us out in the small hours. Not he. He couldn't sleep.

Need I say I was fascinated by the idea? Well, yes. But somehow I hesitated and looked towards Mills, so much my senior. He got up without a word. This was decisive; for no obscure premonition, and of something indefinite at that, could stand against the example of his tranquil personality.