“Yes, they refused. But I expected that. They, to be sure, have their reasons. It will be to your advantage, Peyral, you see. The Governor of Goree is interested in me, and he has promised you his protection, if you accept. We thought of you first” (with a look at Fatou), “because it is well known that you are fond of this country. On your return from Gadiangué, you would be sent to complete your service at St Louis; that has been arranged with the Governor. I swear to you that it would be so.” ... “In any case, we shall never have time,” interrupted Jean, who felt that he was lost, and was clutching at a straw. “Oh yes,” ... said Pierre Boyer, with a ray of joy already brightening his eyes. “We shall have plenty of time; there is all the afternoon before us. You will have nothing to bother about. Everything has been arranged with the Governor; the papers are ready. All that is required is your consent and your signature—and then I go back to Goree and return here in two hours’ time, and everything will be settled. Listen, Peyral, here are my savings, three hundred francs; they are yours. Perhaps the money may be useful to you when you return to St Louis and settle down, or on some other occasion. Do what you like with it.” “Oh, thank you,” replied Jean. “I don’t take money for this sort of thing.” ... He turned away his head disdainfully, and Boyer, aware that he had made a false step, took his hand and said, “Don’t be angry, Peyral.” And he held Jean’s hand in his, and they both stood there, facing each other, troubled and silent. Fatou, for her part, had realised that a word from her might ruin all. She had merely thrown herself on her knees again, softly muttering a negro prayer, and had wound her arms around the spahi’s legs, clinging to him. Jean, vexed that another man should witness such a scene, said to her roughly, “Come, Fatou, let me go, I beg you. Have you suddenly gone crazy?” But to Pierre Boyer the pair did not seem ridiculous. On the contrary, he thought the scene touching. A ray of morning sunshine glided across the yellow sand and slid in through the open door, casting a red light on the spahis’ uniforms, illuminating their pleasant, vigorous faces, clouded with anxiety and indecision, making the silver bracelets flash on Fatou’s supple arms, wound snake-like around Jean’s knees; emphasizing the dreary bareness of this African hut of wood and thatch where these three forlorn young creatures were deciding their own fate.... “Peyral,” continued the other spahi, speaking low, in a gentle voice. “You see, Peyral, I am an Algerian. You know what that means. My good old parents live at Blidah, and they are waiting for me. They have no one but me. You, Peyral, will understand what it means to return to one’s home.” * * * * * “Very well, then, yes!” said Jean, pushing his red cap to the back of his head, and stamping on the ground, “Yes! I agree. I will exchange with you and stay.”