and the petty wars of Oceanic had been planned between waltzes and
wines. Here Loti put his arms about his first Tahitian sweetheart,
and practised that vocabulary of love he used so well in "Rarahu,"
"Madame Chrysantheme," and his other studies of the exotic woman. A
hundred noted men, soldiers, and sailors, scientists and dilettanti,
governors and writers, had walked or worked in those tumbling rooms.

Lovaina had owned the building many years, buying it from the thrifty
French Government.

My apartment was of two rooms, and my section of the balcony was cut
off by a door, giving privacy unusual in Tahiti. The coloring of the
wall was rich in hue.

Any color, so it's red, said a satirist, who might have been
characterizing my rooms. Turkey-red muslin with a large, white diamond
figure was pasted on the plaster walls and hung in the doorways.

"It very bes' the baroness could do in T'ytee," explained Lovaina. "She
must be bright all about, and she buy and fix rooms. She have whole top
floor Annexe, and spen' money like gentleman, two or three thousand
dollar' every month. I wish you know her. She talk beautiful', and
never one word smut. Hones', true. Johnny, my son, read 'Three Weeks'
that time, and he speak the baroness, 'You jus' like that woman
in the book.' She have baby here and take with her to Paris. She
want that baby jus' like 'Three Weeks.' Oh, but she live high! She
have her own servants, get everything in market, bring peacocks and
pheasants and turkeys from America. How you think? Dead? No. She sen'
man to bring on foot on boat. You go visit her, she give champagne
jus' like Papenoo River. She beautiful? My God! I tell you she like