218 MYSTIC ISLES 



"I am a stranger in your island, as was Loti when 

 he met Rarahu. Will you not yourself show me 

 Fautaua?" 



She gave a shrill cry of delight, and in the frank, 

 sweet way of the Tahitian girl replied : 



"We will run away to-morrow morning. Wear 

 little, for it will be warm, and bring no food!" 



"I will obey you literally," I said, "and you must find 

 manna or charm ravens to bring us sustenance." 



I had coffee opposite the market place in the shop of 

 Wing Luey, and chatted a few moments with Prince 

 Hinoe, the son of the Princesse de Joinville, who would 

 have been king had the French not ended the Kingdom 

 of Tahiti. No matter what time Hinoe lay down at 

 night, he was up at dawn for the market, for his early 

 roll and coffee and his converse with the sellers and the 

 buyers. There once a day for an hour the native in 

 Papeete touched the country folk and renewed the 

 ancient custom of gossip in the cool of the morning. 



The princess — in English her familiar Tahitian name, 

 Noanoa Tiare, meant Fragrance of the Jasmine — was 

 in the Pare de Bougainville, by the bust of the first 

 French circumnavigator. 



'Ta ora na!" she greeted me. "Are you ready for 

 adventure?" 



She handed me a small, soft package, with a caution 

 to keep it safe and dry. I put it in my inside pocket. 



The light of the sun hardly touched the lagoon, and 

 Moorea was still shrouded in the shadows of the expir- 

 ing night. As we walked down the beach, the day was 

 opening with the "morning bank," the masses of white 

 clouds that gather upon the horizon before the trade- 



