810 MYSTIC ISLES 



secretive toward the French, lighting the cigarette of a 

 blanchisseuse at the Pool of Psyche, his arm about her, 

 and his black bristles nearer than necessary to her ripe 

 mouth. A merchant dining away from home slapped 

 caressingly the hips of the girls who waited upon him, 

 nor concealed his gestures. Hypocrisy had lost her 

 shield in Tahiti, because, except among a few aged per- 

 sons, and the pastors, she was not a virtue, as in Amer- 

 ica and England, but a hateful vice. 



Back again in the Palais, cooled and made receptive 

 to music by the joyous quarter of an hour in the buffet, 

 we heard Mme. Gautier sing "Le Cid," by Massenet, 

 and the Princess Tekau accompany her effectively on 

 the piano. A solo de piston, a violin, a flute, all played 

 by Tahitians, entertained us, and then came the fun. 



M. X was down for a monologue. Who could it 



be? He bounced on the stage in a Prince- Albert coat 

 and a Derby hat, rollicking, truculent, plainly exhilar- 

 ated. Why, it was M. Lontane in disguise, the second 

 in command of the police, the hero of the battle of the 

 limes, the coal, and the potatoes. He gave a side-split- 

 ting burlesque of the conflict. He acted the drunken 

 stoker, the man who would write to "The Times" when 

 M. Lontane placed his pistol at his stomach, and he 

 made us see the fruit and coal flying. It was all good 

 natured, and his dialogue (monologue) amusing. We 

 saw how we Anglo-Saxons appeared to the French, and 

 learned how the hoarse growl of the British sailor 

 sounded. 



The governor was delighted, the inspecteurs also. 

 The officials took their cue, the entire audience laughed, 

 and the galleries of children, not understanding at all. 



