Blunt at once and put the suggestion before him. The
Captain thought this the very thing. As a matter of fact, on that evening of
Carnival, those two, Mills and Blunt, had been actually looking everywhere for
our man. They had decided that he should be drawn into the affair if it could be
done. Blunt naturally wanted to see him first. He must have estimated him a
promising person, but, from another point of view, not dangerous. Thus lightly
was the notorious (and at the same time mysterious) Monsieur George brought into
the world; out of the contact of two minds which did not give a single thought
to his flesh and blood.
    Their purpose explains the intimate tone given to their first conversation
and the sudden introduction of Doña Rita's history. Mills, of course, wanted to
hear all about it. As to Captain Blunt I suspect that, at the time, he was
thinking of nothing else. In addition it was Doña Rita who would have to do the
persuading; for, after all, such an enterprise with its ugly and desperate risks
was not a trifle to put before a man - however young.
    It cannot be denied that Mills seems to have acted somewhat unscrupulously.
He himself appears to have had some doubt about it, at a given moment, as they
were driving to the Prado. But perhaps Mills, with his penetration, understood
very well the nature he was dealing with. He might even have envied it. But it's
not my business to excuse Mills. As to him whom we may regard as Mills' victim
it is obvious that he has never harboured a single reproachful thought. For him
Mills is not to be criticized. A remarkable instance of the great power of mere
individuality over the young.
 

                                    Part One

                                       I

Certain streets have an atmosphere of their own, a sort of universal fame and
the particular affection of their citizens. One of such streets is the
Cannebière, and the jest: »If Paris had a Cannebière it would be a little
Marseilles« is the jocular expression of municipal pride. I, too, I have been
under the spell. For me it has been a street leading into the unknown.
    There was a part of it where one could see as many as five big cafés in a
resplendent row. That evening I strolled into one of them. It was by no means
full. It looked deserted, in fact, festal and overlighted, but cheerful. The
wonderful street was distinctly cold (it was an evening of carnival), I was very
idle, and I was