Lourdes. _Pour moi_, I am convinced that Joan is one of the most
glorious saints in heaven, and that Père Simeon himself is of the
band of blessed martyrs."

"Ah, Père Victorien, I would like nothing better than to meet that
good man," I said, "but I am at a loss to get to Tai-o-hae. The
_Roberta_, Capriata's steamer, will not be here for many weeks,
and there is no other in the archipelago just now."

"You shall return with me in the _Jeanne d'Arc_," he replied quickly.
"It may be an arduous voyage for you, but you will be well repaid."

A fortnight later his steersman came running to my cabin to tell me
to be ready at one o'clock in the morning.

The night was a myriad of stars on a vast ebon canopy. One could see
only shadows in denser shadows, and the serene sure movements of the
men as they lifted the whale-boat from Bauda's shed and carried it
lightly to the water were mysterious to me. Their eyes saw where
mine were blind. Père Victorien and I were seated in the boat, and
they shoved off, breast-deep in the turmoil of the breakers, running
alongside the bobbing craft until it was in the welter of foam and,
then with a chorus, in unison, lifting themselves over the sides and
seizing the oars before the boat could turn broadside to the shore.

"He-ee Nuka-hiva!" they sang in a soft monotone, while they pulled
hard for the mouth of the bay. The priest and I were fairly
comfortable in the stern, the steersman perched behind us on the
very edge of the combing, balancing himself to the rise and fall of
the boat as an acrobat on a rope. I laid my head on my bag and fell