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“You were speaking just now of little Rarahu of Bora-Bora,” said Lieutenant Benson, coming up to us. He had been in Tahiti later than either of us. “She had fallen very low in these latter days—but she was a strange little creature. Wreaths of flowers, always fresh, on a death's-head face.—At last she had no home of her own, and wherever she went she dragged an old cat at her heels, a feeble thing with rings in its ears, to which she was devoted. This cat followed her everywhere with lamentable mewings. She often slept under the queen's roof, for in spite of everything Pomaré still showed her the greatest pity and kindness.