"It is not singing and dancing I desire!" she exclaimed. "_Pas de
tout!_ I must know more people, and not people like priests and
these copra dealers. I have read in novels of men who are like gods,
who are bold and strong, but who make their women happy. Do you know
an officer of the _Zelee_, with hair like a ripe banana? He is tall
and plays the banjo. I saw him one time long ago when the warship
was here. He was on the governor's veranda. Oh, that was long ago,
but such a young man would be the man that I want."

Her Marquesan blood was speaking in that cry of the heart,
unrestrained and passionate. They are not the cold, chaste women of
other climes, these women of the Marquesas; with blood at fever heat
and hearts beating like wild things against bars, they listen when
love or its counterfeit pours into their ears those soft words with
nothing in them that make a song. They have no barriers of reserve
or haughtiness; they make no bargains; they go where the heart goes,
careless of certified vows.

"_Mon dieu!_" Mademoiselle N---- exclaimed and put her tiny hand to
her red lips. "What if the good sisters heard me? I am bad. I know.
_Eh bien!_ I am Marquesan after all."

We were about to cross the stream by my cabin, and I mounted the
horse behind her to save a wetting. She turned impulsively and
looked at me, her lovely face close to mine, her dark eyes burning,
and her hot breath on my cheek.

"Write to me when you are in Tahiti, and tell me if you think I
would be happy there?" she said imploringly. "I have no friends here,