the little bay. He exchanged a few words with the sailing-master
of the schooner, then remained by the boat, standing very upright,
his eyes on the ground, waiting.

He had not long to wait. Into the cool, overshadowed garden the
professor descended first, and came jauntily down the path in a
lively cracking of small shells. With his closed parasol hooked on
his forearm, and a book in his hand, he resembled a banal tourist
more than was permissible to a man of his unique distinction. He
waved the disengaged arm from a distance, but at close quarters,
arrested before Renouard's immobility, he made no offer to shake
hands. He seemed to appraise the aspect of the man with a sharp
glance, and made up his mind.

"We are going back by Suez," he began almost boisterously. "I have
been looking up the sailing lists. If the zephirs of your Pacific
are only moderately propitious I think we are sure to catch the
mail boat due in Marseilles on the 18th of March. This will suit
me excellently. . . ." He lowered his tone. "My dear young
friend, I'm deeply grateful to you."

Renouard's set lips moved.

"Why are you grateful to me?"

"Ah! Why? In the first place you might have made us miss the next
boat, mightn't you? . . . I don't thank you for your hospitality.
You can't be angry with me for saying that I am truly thankful to
escape from it. But I am grateful to you for what you have done,
and--for being what you are."