Capitaine Brunot turned to me with a gentle smile, and there was a wonderful look in his dark, kind eyes.
“He did me an injustice, for I too know what it is to have dreams. I have my visions too. In my way I also am an artist.”
We were all silent for a while, and Tiaré fished out of her capacious pocket a handful of cigarettes. She handed one to each of us, and we all three smoked. At last she said:
“Since ce monsieur is interested in Strickland, why do you not take him to see Dr. Coutras? He can tell him something about his illness and death.”
“Volontiers,” said the Captain, looking at me.
I thanked him, and he looked at his watch.
“It is past six o’clock. We should find him at home if you care to come now.”
I got up without further ado, and we walked along the road that led to the doctor’s house. He lived out of the town, but the Hôtel de la Fleur was on the edge of it, and we were quickly in the country. The broad road was shaded by pepper-trees, and on each side were the plantations, cocoa-nut and vanilla. The pirate birds were screeching among the leaves of the palms. We came to a stone bridge over a shallow river, and we stopped for a few minutes to see the native boys bathing. They chased one another with shrill cries and laughter, and their bodies, brown and wet, gleamed in the sunlight.