Chapter 8

"'For you,' he whispered breathlessly, in the French he had picked up during an edifying year in Paris. 'Ah, _mon ami_, this is the end--now I must die, and a glass of your excellent rum would help me to die gracefully. _Merci bien_--you are kindness personified! I wonder why: there is so little, in your eyes, that I can do. Yes, this is the end. I cannot complain--I have had my fun and paid for some of it, at least. Never again shall I watch the faces passing my table on the boulevard, nor sit with the brown peopl…