"I have felt just the same way, seeing, with horror, that people were growing more and more high-principled; and wishing to respect social laws, I sought a more primitive place, and established myself here, where certain principles and social laws are no more spoken of than in Otähiti." "That is what I thought," said Du Pluvier, with a meditative air. "Since seeing you so well established, I have had an idea. I said to myself, 'What am I to do in the future? If I return to Paris, I certainly will not find things any more amusing than formerly. I am as free as air. There is that dear Arthur, living all alone on his island like Robinson Crusoe. A companion is always agreeable, even necessary, for one might fall ill. Very well, then, as I am so fond of this dear Arthur, let me show my friendship for him. If he is Robinson, let me become his Friday. Stay with him six months,--a year,--ten years,--or as long as he remains on his island, and live there, _pardieu!_ like a pair of sultans.' There, my friend, these are the results of my last night's reflections. What do you think of them? You see the night brings counsel. I will become your Friday!" I was terrified, for I had never dreamed of such a thing as this. I said nothing, though, for fear of making things worse by contradicting him. I pretended at first to be charmed with his plan, then I began to throw every kind of difficulty in his way. I spoke of a threatened raid by the Turks,--he feared nothing, for he knew I was brave as a lion. I exaggerated the expenses of my establishment that he wished to share,--he had just come into a large inheritance from an uncle at Saintonge. He pressed me so hard that I had to avow my passion for solitude, saying that it had now become a perfect monomania, and that sometimes, for whole weeks and months, I could scarcely endure the sight of any one,--he said he would vanish like a sprite (what a sprite!) until my fit of loneliness was over. At last, as a final argument, I said it would be impossible for me, from certain reasons, to give him a lodging in the Carina Palace,--he said he could easily find some villa in the neighbourhood, having decided to live in Turkish fashion, and never to leave me. The situation was becoming extremely serious. Du Pluvier, like all obstinate and narrow-minded persons, might persist in doing as he said, and then my sojourn on the island would be unbearable. This thought, added to the singular revulsion of feeling that Madame de Fersen had produced in me, made me seriously think of abandoning Khios. Perhaps, had it not been for this strange caprice of Du Pluvier's, I might have hesitated to take this step. Perhaps I might have struggled against this desire of reëntering society.