"For eighteen months—"
Having pronounced those last words, Negoro stopped suddenly. He seized his companion's arm, and listened.
"Harris," said he, lowering his voice, "was there not a trembling in that papyrus bush?"
"Yes, indeed," replied Harris, seizing his gun, always ready to fire.
Negoro and he stood up, looked around them, and listened with the greatest attention.
"There is nothing there," said Harris. "It is this brook, swelled by the storm, which runs more noisily. For two years, comrade, you have been unaccustomed to the noises of the forest, but you will get used to them again. Continue, then, the narration of your adventures. When I understand the past, we shall talk of the future."
Negoro and Harris sat down again at the foot of the banyan. The
Portuguese continued, in these terms:
"For eighteen months I vegetated in Auckland. When the steamer arrived there I was able to leave it without being seen; but not a piastre, not a dollar in my pocket! In order to live I had to follow all trades—"
"Even the trade of an honest man, Negoro?"
"As you say, Harris."