Chapter XV. The Secret of Korong

"You have lived here long?" Felix asked, with tremulous interest, as he took a seat on the bench under the big tree, toward which his new host politely motioned him. "You know the people well, and all their superstitions?"

"Helas, yes, monsieur," the Frenchman answered, with a sigh of regret. "Eighteen years have I spent altogether in this beast of a Pacific; nine as a convict in New Caledonia, and nine more as a god here; and, believe me, I hardly know which is the harder post. Yours is the first White face I have ever seen since my arrival in this cursed island."

"And how did you come here?" Felix asked, half breathless, for the very magnitude of the stake at issue--no less a stake than Muriel's life--made him hesitate to put point-blank the question he had most at heart for the moment.

"Monsieur," the Frenchman answered, trying to cover his rags with his native cape, "that explains itself easily. I was a medical student in Paris in the days of the Commune. Ah! that beloved Paris--how far away it seems now from Boupari! Like all other students I was advanced--Republican, Socialist--what you will--a political enthusiast. When the events took place--the events of '70--I espoused with all my heart the cause of the people. You know the rest. The bourgeoisie conquered. I was taken red-handed, as the Versaillais said--my pistol in my grasp--an open revolutionist. They tried me by court-martial--br'r'r--no delay--guilty, M. le President--hard labor to perpetuity. They sent me with that brave Louise Michel and so many other good comrades of the cause to New Caledonia. There, nine years of convict life was more than enough for me. One day I found a canoe on the shore--a little Kanaka canoe--you know the type--a mere shapeless dug-out. Hastily I loaded it with food--yam, taro, bread-fruit--I pushed it off into the sea--I embarked alone--I intrusted myself and all my fortunes to the Bon Dieu and the wide Pacific. The Bon Dieu did not wholly justify my confidence. It is a way he has--that inscrutable one. Six weeks I floated hither and thither before varying winds. At last one evening I reached this island. I floated ashore. And, enfin, me voila!"

"Then you were a political prisoner only?" Felix said, politely.

M. Jules Peyron drew himself up with much dignity in his tattered costume. "Do I look like a card-sharper, monsieur?" he asked simply, with offended honor.

Felix hastened to reassure him of his perfect confidence. "On the contrary, monsieur," he said, "the moment I heard you were a convict from New Caledonia, I felt certain in my heart you could be nothing less than one of those unfortunate and ill-treated Communards."

"Monsieur," the Frenchman said, seizing his hand a second time, "I perceive that I have to do with a man of honor and a man of