re; and
amongst others I had a few days in Haiti which was of course unique,
being a negro republic. On this Captain Blunt began to talk of negroes
at large. He talked of them with knowledge, intelligence, and a sort of
contemptuous affection. He generalized, he particularized about the
blacks; he told anecdotes. I was interested, a little incredulous, and
considerably surprised. What could this man with such a boulevardier
exterior that he looked positively like, an exile in a provincial town,
and with his drawing-room manner--what could he know of negroes?

Mills, sitting silent with his air of watchful intelligence, seemed to
read my thoughts, waved his pipe slightly and explained: "The Captain is
from South Carolina."

"Oh," I murmured, and then after the slightest of pauses I heard the
second of Mr. J. K. Blunt's declarations.

"Yes," he said. "_Je suis Americain_, _catholique et gentil-homme_," in
a tone contrasting so strongly with the smile, which, as it were,
underlined the uttered words, that I was at a loss whether to return the
smile in kind or acknowledge the words with a grave little bow. Of
course I did neither and there fell on us an odd, equivocal silence. It
marked our final abandonment of the French language. I was the one to
speak first, proposing that my companions should sup with me, not across
the way, which would be riotous with more than one "infernal" supper, but
in another much more select establishment in a side street away from the
Cannebiere. It flattered my vanity a little to be able to say that I had
a corner table always reserved in the Salon des Palmiers, otherwise Salon
Blanc, where the atmosphere was legitimist and extremely decorous
besides--even in Carnival time. "Nine tenths of the people there," I
said, "would be of your political opinions, if that's an inducement.
Come along. Let's be festive," I encouraged them.

I didn't feel particularly festive. What I wanted was to remain in my
company and break an inexplicable feeling of constraint of which I was
aware. Mills looked at me steadily with a faint, kind smile.

"No," said Blunt. "Why should we go there? They will be only turning us
out in the small hours, to go home and face insomnia. Can you imagine
anything more disgusting?"

He was smiling all the time, but his deep-set eyes did not lend
themselves to the expression of whimsical politeness which he tried to
achieve. He had another suggestion to offer.