prudent mind told him that he ought to proceed at once to Governor Rapont
and present his letters of commendation, for he was in a country where
feeling was running high against English interference with the
deportation of French convicts to New Caledonia, and the intention of
France to annex the New Hebrides. But he knew also that so soon as these
letters were presented, his freedom of action would be restricted, either
by a courtesy which would be so constant as to become surveillance, or by
an injunction having no such gloss. He had come to study French
government in New Caledonia, to gauge the extent of the menace that
the convict question bore towards Australia, and to tell his tale to
Australia, and to such other countries as would listen. The task was not
pleasant, and it had its dangers, too, of a certain kind. But Shorland
had had difficulty and peril often in his life, and he borrowed no
trouble. Proceeding along the Rue de l'Alma, and listening to the babble
of French voices round him, he suddenly paused abstractedly, and said to
himself "Somehow it brings back Paris to me, and that last night there,
when I bade Freeman good-bye. Poor old boy, I'm glad better days are
coming for him. Sure to be better, if he marries Clare. Why didn't he
do it seven years ago, and save all that other horrible business?"

Then he moved on, noticing that he was the object of remark, but as it
was daytime, and in the street he felt himself safe. Glancing up at a
doorway he saw a familiar Paris name--Cafe Voisin. This was interesting.
It was in the Cafe Voisin that he had touched a farewell glass with Luke
Freeman, the one bosom friend of his life. He entered this Cafe Voisin
with the thought of how vague would be the society which he would meet in
such a reproduction of a famous Parisian haunt. He thought of a Cafe
chantant at Port Said, and said to himself, "It can't be worse than
that." He was right then. The world had no shambles of ghastly
frivolity and debauchery like those of Port Said.