"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 feeling.
Well, I landed on this island, and they made me a god.

From that day to this I have been anxious only to shuffle off my unwelcome divinity, and return as a mere man to the shores of Europe.

Better be a valet in Paris, say I, than a deity of the best in Polynesia.

It is a monotonous existence here--no society, no life--and the _cuisine_--bah, execrable! But till the other day, when your steamer passed, I have scarcely even sighted a European ship.

A boat came here once, worse luck, to put off two girls (who didn't belong to Boupari), returned indentured laborers from Queensland; but, unhappily, it was during my taboo--the Month of Birds, as my jailers call it--and though I tried to go down to it or to make signals of distress, the natives stood round my hut with their spears in line, and prevented me by main force from signalling to them or communicating with them.