into my coat. "Here are my cigarettes, Jean; you can smoke just as much as you like"—I pulled out all I had, one full paquet of Maryland, and a half dozen loose ones, and deposited them carefully in the right hand pocket of the pélisse. Then I patted him on the shoulder and gave him the immortal salutation—"Bonne chance, mon ami!"
He straightened proudly. He stalked like a king through the doorway. The astounded plantons and the embarrassed Surveillant followed, the latter closing the doors behind him. I was left with a cloud of angry witnesses.
An hour later the doors opened, Jean entered quietly, and the doors shut. As I lay on my bed I could see him perfectly. He was almost naked. He laid my pélisse on his mattress, then walked calmly up to a neighbouring bed and skillfully and unerringly extracted a brush from under it. Back to his own bed he tiptoed, sat down on it, and began brushing my coat. He brushed it for a half hour, speaking to no one, spoken to by no one. Finally he put the brush back, disposed the pélisse carefully on his arm, came to my bed, and as carefully laid it down. Then he took from the right hand outside pocket a full paquet jaune and six loose cigarettes, showed them for my approval, and returned them to their place. "Merci" was his sole remark. B. got Jean to sit down beside him on his bed and we talked for a few minutes, avoiding the subject of the recent struggle. Then Jean went back to his own bed and lay down.
It was not till later that we learned the climax—not till le petit belge avec le bras cassé, le petit balayeur, came hurrying to our end of the room and sat down with us. He was bursting with excitement; his well arm jerked and his sick one stumped about and he seemed incapable of speech. At length words came.
"Monsieur Jean" (now that I think of it, I believe someone had told him that all male children in America are named Jean at their birth) "I saw SOME SIGHT! le nègre, vous savez?—he is STRONG: Monsieur Jean, he's a GIANT,
