Rain in torrents, under a heavy black sky. This was India. Sylvestrehad just set foot upon land, chance selecting him to complete the crewof a whale boat. He felt the warm shower upon him through the thickfoliage, and looked around, surprised at the novel sight. All wasmagnificently green; the leaves of the trees waved like giganticfeathers, and the people walking beneath them had large velvety eyes,which seemed to close under the weight of their lashes. The very windthat brought the rain had the odour of musk and flowers.

　　At a distance, dusky girls beckoned him to come to them. Some happystrain they sang, like the "Whist! here, you darling boy!" so oftenheard at Brest. But seductive as was their country, their call wasimperious and exasperating, making his very flesh shudder. Theirperfect bosoms rose and fell under transparent muslin, in which theywere solely draped; they were glowing and polished as in bronzestatues. Hesitating, fascinated by them, he wavered about, followingthem; but the boatswain's sharp shrill whistle rent the air with bird-like trills, summoning him hurriedly back to his boat, about to pushoff.

　　He took his flight, and bade farewell to India's beauties.

　　After a s............