Neither of them joined in the applause which followed upon her exit. To be free of outward distraction, he shut his eyes and concentrated upon the scraps she had given him; and shortly, with his eyes still closed, he began to describe Ruth's island: the mountain at one end, with the ever-recurring scarves of mist drifting across the lava-scarred face; the jungle at the foot of it; the dazzling border of white sand; the sprawling store of the trader and the rotting wharf, sundrily patched with drift-wood; the native huts on the sandy floor of the palm groves; the scattered sandalwood and ebony; the screaming parakeets in the plantains; the fishing proas; the mission with its white washed walls and barren frontage; the lagoon, fringed with coco palms, now ruffled emerald, now placid sapphire. Having now fairly got out of Newgate for the second time, with a heart throbbing with exultation, he hastened to make good his escape. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. "Do you realize that you are several kinds of a damned scoundrel?" he began. The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his own imagination. Lucy felt her heart splinter in her breast. He became really companionable, discussed the new story he had in mind, and asked some questions about colour.
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