"Don't you know," said Speed, kindly, "that it takes years of practice to do what circus people do? And the life is not gay, Jacqueline; it is hard for all of us. We know what hunger means; we know sickness and want and cold. Believe me, you are happier in Paradise than we are in the circus."

"It may be," she said, quietly.

"Of course it is," he insisted.

"But," she flashed out, "I would rather be unhappy in the circus than happy in Paradise!"

He protested, smiling, but she would have her way.

"I once saw a man, in spangles, turning, turning, and ever turning upon a rod. He was very far away, and that was very long ago--at the fair in Bannalec. But I have not forgotten! No, monsieur! In our net-shed I also have fixed a bar of wood, and on it I turn, turn continually. I am not ignorant of twisting. I can place my legs over my neck and cross my feet under my chin. Also I can stand on both hands, and I can throw scores of handsprings--which I do every morning upon the beach--I, Jacqueline!"

She was excited; she stretched out both bare arms as though preparing to demonstrate her ability then and there.

"I should like to see a circus," she said. "Then I should know what to do. That I can swing higher than any girl in Paradise has been demonstrated often," she went on, earnestly. "I can swim farther, I can dive deeper, I can run faster, with bare feet or with sabots, than anybody, man or woman, from the Beacon to Our Lady's Chapel! At bowls the men will not allow me because I have beaten them all, monsieur, even the mayor, which he never forgave. As for the farandole, I tire last of all--and it is the biniou who cries out for mercy!"

She laughed and pushed back her hair, standing straight up in the yellow radiance like a moor-sprite. There was something almost unearthly in her lithe young body and fearless sea-blue eyes, sparkling from the shock of curls.

"So you can dive and swim?" asked Speed, with a glance at me.

"Like the salmon in the Laita, monsieur."

"Under water?"

"Parbleu!"

After a pause I asked her age.

"Fifteen, M'sieu Scarlett."

"You don't look thirteen, Jacqueline."

"I think I should grow faster if we were not so poor," she said, innocently.

"You mean that you don't get enough to eat?"

"Not always, m'sieu. But that is so with everybody except the wealthy."

"Suppose we try her," said Speed, after a silence. "You and I can sc.r.a.pe up a little money for her if worst comes to worst."

"How about her father?"

"You can see him. What is he?"

"A poacher, I understand."

"Oh, then it's easy enough. Give him a few francs. He'll take the child's salary, anyway, if this thing turns out well."

"Jacqueline," I said, "we can't afford to pay you much money, you know."

"Money?" repeated the child, vacantly. "_Money!_ If I had my arms full--so!--I would throw it into the world--so!"--she glanced at Speed--"reserving enough for a new skirt, monsieur, of which I stand in some necessity."

The quaint seriousness, the resolute fearlessness of this little maid of Paradise touched us both, I think, as she stood there restlessly, balancing on her slim bare feet, finger-tips poised on her hips.

"Won't you take me?" she asked, sweetly.

"I'll tell you what I'll do, Jacqueline," said I. "Very early in the morning I'll go down to your house and see your father. Then, if he makes no objection, I'll get you to put on a pretty swimming-suit, all made out of silver scales, and you can show me, there in the sea, how you can dive and swim and play at mermaid. Does that please you?"

She looked earnestly at me, then at Speed.

"Is it a promise?" she asked, in a quivering voice.

"Yes, Jacqueline."

"Then I thank you, M'sieu Scarlett,... and you, m'sieur, who ride the elephant so splendidly.... And I will be waiting for you when you come.... We live in the house below the Saint-Julien Light.... My father is pilot of the port.... Anybody will tell you." ...

"I will not forget," said I.

She bade us good-night very prettily, stepped back out of the circle of torch-light, and vanished--there is no other word for it.

"Gracious," said Speed, "wasn't that rather sudden? Or is that the child yonder? No, it's a bush. Well, Scarlett, there's an uncanny young one for you--no, not uncanny, but a spirit in its most delicate sense. I've an idea she's going to find poor Byram's lost luck for him."

"Or break her neck," I observed.

Speed was quiet for a long while.

"By-the-way," he said, at last, "are you going to tell the Countess about that fellow Buckhurst?"

"I sent a note to her before I fed my lions," I replied.

"Are you going to see her?"

"If she desires it."

"Who took the note, Scarlett?"

"Jacqueline's father,... that Lizard fellow."

"Well, don't let's stir up Buckhurst now," said Speed. "Let's do what we can for the governor first."

"Of course," said I. "And I'm going to bed. Good-night."

"Good-night," said Speed, thoughtfully. "I'll join you in a moment."

When I was ready for bed and stood at the tent door, peering out into the darkness, I saw Speed curled up on a blanket between the elephant's forefeet, sound asleep.

XII