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.