He was sitting in the shadow of the canvas; the sands and the blue sea lay before him. On the sand just before the tent the palm-top shadows were beginning to crawl—it was one o’clock.
As he sat like this, listening to the chanty of the negroes, who were beginning to haul the boat across the island, of a sudden he made an exclamation and struck his knee with his hand.
An idea had evidently occurred to him. He called to Gaspard, who had risen and was walking up and down on the sand outside.
Gaspard approached.
“Well,” said he, “what is it?”
“An idea,” said the Captain. “We have come here, but we have not observed etiquette.”
“Ah, what do you say?” asked Gaspard, who had heard the word in the course of his life, but did not know the meaning.
“We have not called on the proprietor of the place.”
“The proprietor?”
“Simon Serpente.”