Oscard was not good at the enunciation of those small amenities
which are supposed to soothe the feelings of the temporarily
debased. He vaguely felt that this woman was not accustomed to
menial service, but he knew that any suggestion of sympathy was more
than he could compass. So he merely spoke to her more gently than
to the men, and perhaps she understood, despite her chocolate-
coloured skin.
They had inaugurated a strange, unequal friendship during the three
days that Oscard had been left alone at Msala. Joseph had been
promoted to the command of a certain number of the porters, and his
domestic duties were laid aside. Thus Marie was called upon to
attend to Guy Oscard's daily wants.
"I think I'll take coffee," he was saying to her in reply to a
question. "Yes--coffee, please, Marie."
He was smoking one of his big wooden pipes, staring straight in
front of him with a placidity natural to his bulk.
The woman turned away with a little smile. She liked this big man
with his halting tongue and quiet ways. She liked his awkward
attempts to conciliate the coquette Xantippe--to extract a smile
from the grave Nestorius, and she liked his manner towards herself.
She liked the poised pipe and the jerky voice as he said, "Yes--
coffee, please, Marie."
Women do like these things--they seem to understand them and to
attach some strange, subtle importance of their own to them.
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