opeans who
superintended the work. Old men, women, and children were placed at the
disposal of the contractors by the native authorities, to dig up and
remove the soil; and these poor wretches, crushed with hard work, and
driven with the lash by drunken overseers--who commanded them with a
pistol in hand--under a burning sun, inhaled the noxious vapors arising
from the upturned soil, and died like flies. It was a terrible sight,
and one that Pierre could not forget.

But Herzog, with his cajoling sweetness, protested against this
exaggerated picture. Delarue had arrived during the dog-days--a bad
time. And then, it was necessary for the work to be carried on without
delay. Besides, a few Moors, more or less--what did it matter? Negroes,
all but monkeys!

Marechal, who had listened silently until then, interrupted the
conversation, to defend the monkeys in the name of Littre. He had framed
a theory, founded on Darwin, and tending to prove that men who despised
monkeys despised themselves. Herzog, a little taken aback by this
unexpected reply, had looked at Marechal slyly, asking himself if it
was a joke. But, seeing Madame Desvarennes laugh, he recovered his
self-possession. Business could not be carried on in the East as in
Europe. And then, had it not always been thus? Had not all the great
discoverers worked the countries which they discovered? Christopher
Columbus, Cortez--had they not taken riches from the Indians, in
exchange for the civilization which they brought them? He (Herzog)
had, in making a railway in Morocco, given the natives the means
of civilizing themselves. It was only fair that it should cost them
something.

Herzog uttered his tirade with all the charm of which he was capable; he
looked to the right and to the left to notice the effect. He saw nothing
but constrained faces. It seemed as if they were expecting some one
or something. Time was passing; ten o'clock had just struck. From the
little boudoir sounds of music were occasionally heard, when Micheline's
nervous hand struck a louder chord on her piano. She was there,
anxiously awaiting some one or something. Jeanne de Cernay, stretched in
an easy-chair, her head leaning on her hand, was dreaming.

During the past three weeks the young girl had changed. Her bright wit
no longer enlivened Micheline's indolent calmness; her brilliant eyes
were surrounded by blue rings, which denoted nights passed without
sleep. The change coincided strangely