the time of towing we had two quartermasters stationed with axes by the hawsers, to cut us clear of our tow in case she . . .”  He fluttered downwards his heavy eyelids, making his meaning as plain as possible. . . .  “What would you!  One does what one can (on fait ce qu’on peut),” and for a moment he managed to invest his ponderous immobility with an air of resignation.  “Two quartermasters—­thirty hours—­always there.  Two!” he repeated, lifting up his right hand a little, and exhibiting two fingers.  This was absolutely the first gesture I saw him make.  It gave me the opportunity to “note” a starred scar on the back of his hand—­effect of a gunshot clearly; and, as if my sight had been made more acute by this discovery, I perceived also the seam of an old wound, beginning a little below the temple and going out of sight under the short grey hair at the side of his head—­the graze of a spear or the cut of a sabre.  He clasped his hands on his stomach again.  “I remained on board that—­that—­my memory is going (s’en va).  Ah!  Patt-na.  C’est bien ca.  Patt-na.  Merci.  It is droll how one forgets.  I stayed on that ship thirty hours. . . .”

’"You did!” I exclaimed.  Still gazing at his hands, he pursed his lips a little, but this time made no hissing sound.  “It was judged proper,” he said, lifting his eyebrows dispassionately, “that one of the officers should remain to keep an eye open (pour ouvrir l’oeil)” . . . he sighed idly . . . “and for communicating by signals with the towing ship—­do you see?—­and so on.  For the rest, it was my opinion too.  We made our boats ready to drop over—­and I also on that ship took measures. . . .  Enfin!  One has done one’s possible.  It was a delicate position.  Thirty hours!  They prepared me some food.  As for the wine—­go and whistle for it—­not a drop.”  In some extraordinary way, without any marked change in his inert attitude and in the placid expression of his face, he managed to convey the idea of profound disgust.  “I—­you know—­when it comes to eating without my glass of wine—­I am nowhere.”

’I was afraid he would enlarge upon the grievance, for though he didn’t stir a limb or twitch a feature, he made one aware how much he was irritated by the recollection.  But he seemed to forget all about it.  They delivered their charge to the “port authorities,” as he expressed it.  He was struck by the calmness with which it had been received.  “One might have thought they had such a droll find (drole de trouvaille) brought them every day.  You are extraordinary—­you others,” he commented, with his back propped against the wall, and looking himself as incapable of an emotional display as a sack of meal.  There happened to be a man-of-war and an Indian Marine steamer in the harbour at the time, and he did not conceal his admiration of the efficient manner in which the boats of these two ships cleared the Patna of her passengers.  Indeed his torpid demeanour concealed nothing:  it had that mysterious, almost miraculous, power of