One lolls about and sleeps all day long, and one's liver gets like a Strasburg goose's and plays Old Harry with one's temper.

Why one should come here when there are pheasants to be shot in England, I don't know." "Neither your liver nor your temper seem to be much affected, Colonel," said I, "for you've been violently awakened from a sweet sleep and are in a most amiable frame of mind." He laughed, suggested exercise, the Briton's panacea for all ills, and took me for a walk.

When we returned at dusk, and after I had had tea before the fire (for December evenings in Algiers are chilly) in one of the pretty Moorish alcoves of the lounge, my good humour was restored.

I viewed our pursuit of Captain Vauvenarde in its right aspect--that of a veritable Snark-Hunt of which I was the Bellman--and the name "Lola" curled itself round my heart with the same grateful sensation of comfort as the warm China tea.

After all, it was only as Lola that I thought of her.