OF THE SOUTH SEAS 199 



the battlements of Moorea were but dim silhouettes. 

 The lagoon between the reef and the beach was turning 

 from dark blue to azure pink. The miracle of the ad- 

 vent of the day was never more delicately painted be- 

 fore my eyes. 



In my crimson pareu I descended the grand staircase, 

 which had often echoed to the booted tread of admiral 

 and sailor, of diplomat and bureaucrat, and outside the 

 building I passed along the lower rear balcony to the 

 bath. The Annexe, like the Tiare Hotel, made no pre- 

 tense to elegance or convenience. The French never 

 demand the latter at home, and the Tahitian is so much 

 an outdoor man that water-pipes and what they signify 

 are not of interest to him. 



The bath of the Annexe was a large cement tank, 

 primarily for washing clothes. Its floor was as slip- 

 pery as ice. One held to the window-frame at the side, 

 and turned the tap. 



A shower fell a dozen feet like rose-leaves upon one. 

 Ah, the waters of Tahiti! Never was such gentle, vel- 

 vety rain, a benediction from the tauupo o te moua, the 

 slopes of the mountains. 



I deferred my pleasure a few minutes as the place 

 under the shower was occupied by an entrancing pair, 

 Evoa, the .consort of Afa, and her four-months-old in- 

 fant, Poia. Evoa was sixteen years old, tall, like most 

 Tahitians, finely figured, slender, and with the superb 

 carriage that is the despair of the corseted women who 

 visit Tahiti. Her features were regular, but not soft. 

 Her skin was ivory-white, with a glint of red in cheek 

 and lip, and the unconfined hair that reached her hips 

 was intensely black and fine. I could see no touch 



