the eyes soft and extraordinarily sensitive, the mouth delicate and firm
beneath a black moustache which fused with the silky and wonderful
darkness falling upon the breast. The face contained a beauty and dignity
which, as I first saw it, annihilated the surrounding tumult without an
effort. Around the carefully formed nostrils there was something almost
of contempt. The cheeks had known suns of which I might not think. The
feet had travelled nakedly in countries not easily imagined. Seated
gravely in the mud and noise of the _cour_, under the pitiful and
scraggly _pommier_ ... behind the eyes lived a world of complete
strangeness and silence. The composure of the body was graceful and
Jovelike. This being might have been a prophet come out of a country
nearer to the sun. Perhaps a god who had lost his road and allowed
himself to be taken prisoner by _le gouvernement francais_. At least a
prince of a dark and desirable country, a king over a gold-skinned people
who would return when he wished to his fountains and his houris. I
learned upon inquiry that he travelled in various countries with a horse
and cart and his wife and children, selling bright colours to the women
and men of these countries. As it turned out, he was one of the
Delectable Mountains; to discover which I had come a long and difficult
way. Wherefore I shall tell you no more about him for the present, except
that his name was Joseph Demestre.

We called him The Wanderer.

I was still wondering at my good luck in occupying the same miserable
yard with this exquisite personage when a hoarse, rather thick voice
shouted from the gate: "_L'americain!_"

It was a _planton_, in fact the chief _planton_ for whom all ordinary
_plantons_ had unutterable respect and whom all mere men unutterably