It had been left to the professor to help his ladies out of the boat because Renouard, as if intent on giving directions, had stepped forward at once to meet the half-caste Luiz hurrying down the path.

In the distance, in front of the dazzlingly sunlit bungalow, a row of dark-faced house-boys unequal in stature and varied in complexion preserved the immobility of a guard of honour.
Luiz had taken off his soft felt hat before coming within earshot.
Renouard bent his head to his rapid talk of domestic arrangements he meant to make for the visitors; another bed in the master's room for the ladies and a cot for the gentleman to be hung in the room opposite where--where Mr.Walter--here he gave a scared look all round--Mr.
Walter--had died.
"Very good," assented Renouard in an even undertone.

"And remember what you have to say of him." "Yes, master.

Only"-- he wriggled slightly and put one bare foot on the other for a moment in apologetic embarrassment--"only I--I--don't like to say it." Renouard looked at him without anger, without any sort of expression.
"Frightened of the dead?
Eh?
Well--all right.

I will say it myself--I suppose once for all.