And now a word as to the déjeuner itself. It has been my good fortune to have breakfasted at most of the famous restaurants in Europe, that is to say, in London, Paris, Rome, and Vienna, but I am prepared to state, and I put it forward believing it to be true, that the meal of which I partook that morning in the Beautiful White Devil's bungalow excelled any I had ever partaken of before. From beginning to end it was perfect in every way. The fish, evidently but lately caught, could only have been called a poem of culinary art, the omelets were Parisian in their daintiness and serving, the cutlets were of the right size and done to a turn, the wine (for the meal was served after the French fashion) was worthy of imperial cellars, and the fruit had evidently been in the garden less than half an hour before. My hostess noticed the surprise with which I regarded these things; for extraordinary it certainly was to sit down to such a breakfast on an island in the North Pacific.
"You are evidently wondering at the civilisation of my surroundings," she said, as the man servant poured her out a glass of Tokay.
"Indeed, yes!" I answered. "I must own I had no notion I should find anything in any way approaching it in these seas. Your cook must be a wonder."
"Well, perhaps he is rather extraordinary!" she continued. "But I doubt if you will deem it so wonderful when I tell you that he is a Frenchman of the French, who was once in the service of Victor Emanuel. How I came to obtain the benefit of his skill is, of course, another matter."
"And will he stay with you, do you think? Are you
