“Never, m’sieu. Would you have me desert my child?” “But,” I said gently, “she is dead.” “Yes; but I have promised her that her _bon papa_ will lie with her presently for company. Leave her alone with the Arabs!” A sudden look of horror came into his face. “You don’t like the Arabs?” “Like the dirty dogs! You haven’t been told about me, m’sieu?” “Only that your name was ‘Fin Tireur.’” “‘Fin Tireur.’ Yes; that’s what they call me in the desert.” “You’re a sportsman? A ‘capital shot’?” He laughed suddenly, and his laugh made me feel cold. “Oh! they don’t call me ‘Fin Tireur’ because I can hit gazelle, and bring them home for supper. No, no! Shall I tell you why?” He looked at me half defiantly, half wistfully, I thought. “But if I do, perhaps your stomach will turn against the food I cooked with these hands,” he added suddenly, stretching out his hands towards me. “You are English, m’sieu?” “Yes.” “Then I daresay you won’t understand.” “I think I shall,” I answered, looking full at him. The way he had spoken of his child had drawn me to him. Whatever he had done, I felt that chivalry and tenderness were in this man. “Why do they call you ‘Fin Tireur’?” “The men of the Midi, m’sieu, are not like the men of the rest of France,” said Fin Tireur—“at least so they say. We are boasters, perhaps; but we’ve got more love of adventure, more wish to see the world, and do something big in it. They’re talkers, you know, in the Midi, and they tell of what they’ve done. I heard them at Cassis when I was a boy, and one day I saw a Zouave in front of the inn balcony, where folks come on fête days to eat the bouillabaisse. The talk I had heard made me wish to rove; but when I saw the Zouave, in his big red trousers and blue and red jacket, I said to myself: ‘As soon as my three years’ service is over I’ll go to Africa, and make my fortune.’ I did my three years at Grenoble, m’sieu, and when it was done I carried out my resolve. I came to Africa; but I didn’t come alone.” He puffed at his cigar for a minute or two, and the hot look in his eyes became more definite, like a fanned flame. “You took a comrade?” “I took a wife, a girl of Cassis. A good girl she was then.”