It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. The kindly American consul-general had himself taken her to the bank, where her banknotes had been exchanged for a letter of credit, and had thoroughly advised her. Had Valade been to see him? Possibly even yesterday when he was followed by some young lad—and the girl, of course. She had never had a pet, never had a real doll. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. She was not altogether surprised when she found a deer, gutted of its entrails and strung with a garland of flowers, on the cave’s doorstep one humid summer morning. You don't notice the heat; but it is always there, pressing down. She put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. \"No, but thank you.
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