"There is a battle going on in the plain, on the other side of this rock!"
"Nothing very wonderful in that," replied the Count. "Did we not come to the conclusion yesterday, through the medium of our telescopes, that an army was advancing towards the mountain? And did not you yourself say that battles are of frequent occurrence in this part of Africa?"
"Yes, undoubtedly," said M. Desrioux, who appeared very much agitated. "But, if I am right, this is no question of an ordinary fight between two hostile tribes; a European caravan must at this very moment be engaged in a struggle with the natives of the country."
"What makes you think so?"
"Lie down on the ground, put your ear to this chink, and listen."
The Count did so, and, after listening for a moment, got up again.
"I have certainly heard shots being fired," said he, "but there is nothing to show me that they were fired by Europeans. The Arab caravans and the slave-traders have firearms, just the same as ours."
"I tell you," exclaimed M. Desrioux, more and more excited, "that there are Europeans there, and that very possibly they are the friends we seek."
"What? Do you mean—"
"Why not? Are we not expecting to meet them every moment! Have not all our forecasts and calculations during the past eight months led us to this part of Africa? They are there, I tell you—I know it—I feel it! Madame de Guéran is there, I repeat, on the other side of that rock, and she is, perhaps, in imminent danger!"
His voice trembled, his eyes sparkled, and he seemed so thoroughly convinced of what he said, that the incredulity of M. de Pommerelle was in the end overcome.
"In that case," said the latter, "do not let us waste our time in talking; let us act. I do not share your conviction, but I do not see the least objection to continue what we have already commenced."
M. Desrioux at once resumed his place near the rock, and issued his final orders.
Half-an-hour afterwards, two-thirds of the powder had disappeared down the fissure in the rock, and the remaining third had been distributed afresh amongst the soldiers. If the operation, now being attempted, should, succeed, they might, after having successfully fought against nature, be called upon to wage war against man, and prudence dictated their keeping a supply of ammunition in reserve.
The rope, manipulated according to the directions of the doctor, was laid so as to serve as a slow-match, and all the escort were then told to get away as quickly as possible. MM. Desrioux and de Pommerelle took upon themselves the duty of igniting the slow-match, of keeping a watch on it as long as possible, and of staying by it to the last moment.
As the doctor had anticipated, the rope, when separated into its component strands, caught fire easily; at the end of a quarter-of-an-hour it was half consumed. The two travellers, after having ascertained that there was no danger of its going out, fed, as it was, and assisted by the grains of powder scattered here and there upon it, then thought that it was about time for them to retire to a place of safety.
Ten minutes elapsed.
Suddenly the sound of a terrific explosion was heard; the earth trembled, and the mountain shook—and then, silence reigned around.
Without exchanging a look or a word, MM. Desrioux and de Pommerelle ran down the gorge in which they had taken refuge, and in a few moments reached the spot where they had before stationed themselves.
The rock was split into two nearly equal parts, exactly over the fissure where the powder had exploded. One of the blocks remained upright, resting against the side of the mountain, but the other, propelled by the severe shock and detached from the main body, had toppled over completely.
MM. Desrioux and de Pommerelle saw, open before them, a large gap, three yards wide, without a single obstruction in it.
They took a few steps forwards, reached the spot where the granite block had stood for so many years, centuries perhaps, and came to a sudden halt.
The ground was giving way beneath their feet; they found themselves on the brink of an abyss some thirty yards deep; the plain was not on the same level as the road blocked up but a few moments previously by the rock.
But they went on, clinging to, and supporting themselves by the side of the mountain, and they then saw that the rock they had displaced not only opened out the horizon to their view, but also afforded them a means whereby they might reach the country just exposed to their gaze. In fact, after having turned a somersault in the air, the top of the rock had fallen on to the plain, whilst its base, resting against the mountain, remained on the spot previously occupied by it. It was exactly like the floor of a bridge which has given away; one of its sides remained fixed to the supports on the right bank of the river, the other was engulfed in the stream.
All the caravan had to do was to slide down an inclined plain of granite, thirty yards long. But, before committing themselves to this descent, and overcoming the very last obstacle which separated them from the plain, MM. Desrioux and Pommerelle looked around them, and were dismayed.
Nothing could be seen on the vast expanse before them but people running in terror in all directions; naked women, raising their hands to heaven and hurrying away with rapid strides; men jostling each other in utter confusion or, stupefied by fear and incapable of movement, throwing themselves down on the ground and seeking to bury themselves in it. The grass of the plain was strewn with arms of every description—lances, arrows, bows, and shields, cast away by the fugitives to render their flight more rapid. In the distance, however, were seen close, compact bodies of men, battalions reforming and being continually reinforced by the accession of stragglers. These soldiers belonged, no doubt, to the victorious army, who, having taken to flight at the commencement of the engagement, were now reappearing to rejoice over the victory of their comrades, and to plunder and massacre the enemies against whom the remainder of their force had so valiantly fought.
But when, after having scanned the distant horizon, MM. Desrioux and de Pommerelle turned their eyes to the foreground of the tableau, their astonishment was converted into stupefaction.
A kind of entrenched camp, with a circular ditch round it, met their eyes. It must have been, a few moments previously, taken by assault, and its defenders put to the sword. More than three hundred dead bodies lay there; some on the ground, some on the sides of the ditch, and others on boxes and baggage heaped up in one corner to serve as ramparts, or scattered far and wide, broken open and smashed to pieces, showing that plunder, as well as massacre, had been going on. Underneath the rock, just where it had fallen, was to be seen, in a perfect lake of blood, a hideous mass of mangled corpses, of detached limbs, and flesh in strips. In the midst of all these corpses a few poor wounded wretches were heaving, struggling, making superhuman efforts to avoid the touch of the bodies on whom death had laid his icy hand, and to escape a living tomb among the dead; the very mountains echoed the piercing shrieks which resounded over this ghastly scene.
MM. Desrioux and de Pommerelle had then arrived too late, at the end of the battle where one of the two forces had suffered defeat. The upheaving of the rock had only served to augment the number of the victims; the block of granite, in pitching headlong on the plain, had, no doubt, crushed beneath its ponderous weight the remnant of the Europeans left in the camp, for there could be no doubt but that the baggage, tents, and rifles strewn upon the ground belonged to Europeans.
From the camp the gaze of our two travellers wandered to a space, about twenty yards square, where were stationed the survivors of this vast hecatomb. At first they only perceived a confused group, whence were proceeding shouts and signs apparently intended for themselves. Little by little the details became more distinct; Arab bûrnus, linen tunics, European clothes could be distinguished. Then a few white faces stood out from the black and bronzed features surrounding them.
M. Desrioux could look no longer; his eyes closed, he grew deadly pale, his limbs gave way beneath him, and if M. de Pommerelle had not caught him and propped him up against the side of the mountain, he would inevitably have fallen down the abyss.
His eyes had rested on her whom he felt he should see—he had recognised Madame de Guéran.
If the two young men had been able, in a few moments, to discover their friends in the midst of the crowd and single them out on that extensive battle-field, MM. de Morin, Périères, and Delange had seen them for a long time, though without recognizing them. At the moment when, driven out of their camp by the amazons, they had sought refuge with their servants and surviving soldiers on the other side of the entrenchment, at the very moment when they were defending themselves with all the energy of despair, knowing full well that they, in their turn, were about to be massacred as their companions had been, suddenly a terrific detonation had sounded in their ears, and the mountain had appeared and overwhelmed their enemies.
Dazzled by this miracle, and almost alarmed at their own escape, they remained at first with their eyes fixed on the mountain, whose fall had not only delivered them out of the hands of the Walindis, and snatched them from imminent death, but had also opened up for them a road to the east, the lakes, and to Europe.
But, as Parisians are somewhat sceptical on the score of miracles, MM. Delange and de Morin, their momentary stupor over, gave M. Périères the credit of their deliverance. Had not he conceived the idea of blowing up the rock to secure a passage through the mountain, and was it not, therefore, probable that he had put his theory into practice? Périères, for his part, imagined that somebody had stolen his idea, and he was looking with admiration on the thieves, whoever they might be. The minds of all three of them were, nevertheless, rather uneasy. They wanted to know how it had happened that the mountain, instead of bursting open at the base, above the mine which one of them must have sprung, revealed an aperture over their heads?
Whilst these thoughts passed through their minds, and their eyes were fixed on the block of stone, of which one end had just rolled on to the plain, and the other remained supported, thirty yards higher up, beside the welcome aperture, two men appeared suddenly on the threshold of this blessed gate, in the foreground of the triumphal arch.
Under the shade of the two lofty mountains, between which they were advancing, surrounded by shadow, they had all the appearance of emerging from a sepulchre. But, once on the brink of the abyss, on the platform of the uplifted rock, they were in the full glare of the sun. Clothed in white, and radiant in the sunlight, they might have been taken for two angels from heaven, who had lighted on the mountain before continuing their flight down to earth.
It is quite possible that this sudden apparition contributed to the flight of the amazons in a greater degree than the noise of the explosion which accompanied the fail of the rock. After their first consternation they might have rallied for another attack on the Europeans, and for the rescue of their Queen; but, when they saw that their motionless and immoveable hill, their sacred mount, had fallen and crushed beneath it many of their number, and that it had opened to give egress to supernatural beings, a thousand superstitious fears took possession of them, and these terrible warriors became women once more.
The surviving Nubians, the Arab interpreters, the Dinkas, and the Monbuttoos, on the other hand, notwithstanding their amazement, understood that heaven was protecting them; the mountain was their ally, the two angels their deliverers. They, therefore, prostrated themselves in gratitude to the God, the idol, or the sorcerer who had saved them.
As for the Europeans, they thanked their deliverers from the depths of their souls, but they did not endue them with any magic power or supernatural influence. They had a simple explanation at hand; a European caravan, advancing from the south-east to the north-west, after having crossed the Blue Mountains, had found their road blocked up by an immense rock, and, being unable either to get round or over it, they had underminded it and blown it up. Their only idea had been to open up a passage for themselves, and chance had willed that at the same time they should do a like office for another caravan proceeding in an opposite direction. Accident, which always appears so improbable in romances, but which plays so large a part in human life, had also contrived that the meeting of these two caravans, and the fall of the mountain should take place at an opportune moment, and in a propitious hour.
The idea never occurred to them that chance, or accident, was not entirely responsible for what had occurred, and that they were face to face with their friends, the Count de Pommerelle and Dr. Desrioux. How could they possibly have supposed that these two men, one detained, as far as they knew, in France by duty, and the other by the force of habit and his own disinclination to move, would appear in the heart of Africa, in 2° lat. N.?
M. Desrioux, on the contrary, who was entirely taken up with the thought of Madame de Guéran, who had for so long a time been journeying towards her, and expecting every moment to meet her, had recognised her at once, or, perhaps, felt by inspiration that she was at hand. It is more than probable, also, that she in her turn was conscious of his presence before he was seen by his friends.
MM. Desrioux and de Pommerelle, whilst contemplating the field of battle, were rejoined by their escort, who, on reaching the place where the mine had exploded and left a free passage, were overcome with admiration, and attempted to worship the two white men, before whom even the mountains opened. But the Count and the doctor made short work of this intended adoration. They calmed the enthusiasm of the Beluchs, and ordered them to fall in two by two and follow them.
It was a curious spectacle to behold this long file of men in their strange, gaudy-coloured dress, resting on their lances, and slowly descending, step by step, the species of aërial way lying open before them.
MM. de Morin, Delange and Périères, in their turn, followed by a few servants and soldiers, advanced to meet the new arrivals. Miss Poles was not in a position to accompany them, being engaged in effecting some necessary repairs to her toilet, which had suffered considerable damage in a desperate struggle against three amazons, to whom she had given thecoup de grâcewith her revolver. Gratitude impelled her to welcome her deliverers, but coquetry withheld her from appearing before strangers, Europeans, fellow-countrymen, perhaps, with her dress in tatters, her sleeves tucked up to her shoulders, her hair dishevelled, her face as red as the middle of the fire, and her spectacles anyhow. When M. Delange endeavoured to induce her to accompany them, she replied—
"No, I do not care about presenting myself before these gentlemen just now; I am not looking my best."
Nobody dreamt of asking Madame de Guéran to go and meet the newly-arrived caravan. She was on her knees beside her husband, who was dangerously wounded and, perhaps, dying. Her eyes were fixed on him, and she appeared wholly absorbed in the contemplation of the face which she had known in all the glory of youth and manly beauty, and now again beheld worn by suffering and fatigue.
Ah! why had he left her for so long! What grief had he not caused her! To what dangers of every kind had he not exposed her! And now she had found him only to lose him very soon, for he could not recover from the wounds inflicted by that woman!
But why had Walinda been so furious against him? Why, instead of hurling herself upon her enemies, had she chosen to attack her prisoner and her guest so unmercifully?
She was there, close to her, only a few yards off, that terrible Queen, that Venus in ebony, as Dr. Delange called her. After having literally torn her away from the body she was holding in so deadly an embrace, Nassar, assisted by some Dinkas, had stripped her of her fatal bracelets and necklets, had bound her legs with cords, tied her arms down to her sides, and thrown her at full length on the ground.
If Walinda was powerless to strike, she took account of everything that was going on around her. Lying on her back, stark naked, but, at the same time, partly hidden by the grass which had opened out to receive her, and now enclosed her, she never took her eyes off the victim rescued from her clutches, the prey snatched from her, and she cast glances of furious hatred on the wounded man and the woman kneeling by his side.
By-and-by, Madame de Guéran crept closer to her husband, and took one of his hands in hers. The Queen's look at once became more ferocious still, her nostrils dilated, her lips half opened, and a shudder went through her body, motionless up to this time. She made frantic efforts to burst her bonds, without success, but by dint of great exertion, she managed to turn over and lie with her face downwards.
Then, by bending her knees, resting first on one shoulder and then on the other, dragging her chest along the grass, and pushing herself by means of the ground, she managed to get close to the spot where M. and Madame de Guéran were. She stopped every time the grass around her rustled, and held her breath lest she should attract the attention of her enemies.
As soon as she was close to them, she shut her hands, of which she had the use, buried her fists in the sand, and, having thus secured a support, she was able to lift her head and chest to the level of the grass. There she remained motionless and silent, brooding, so to speak, over her enemies, with parted lips, ready, like a viper, to spit out her venom.
Madame de Guéran did not see her. Absorbed in her own thoughts, she heard nothing, saw nothing. She was scarcely conscious of what had passed since the moment when her husband had so suddenly appeared before her. He was brandishing an axe, and fighting valiantly when one of those terrible amazons fell upon him, overthrew him, and wounded him mortally. Simultaneously with this, shouts of terror had reached her ears, the camp was invaded—then came a terrific explosion, followed, first of all, by renewed din, and, then, by absolute silence. She did not make any attempt to recall what had happened. What did it matter to her? After so much exertion, she had only found an inanimate being, a dying man. She was overwhelmed by her grief and her reflections, too.
However, as she had no more water wherewith to refresh the wounded man's lips and forehead, she turned round to ask for some. At that moment she perceived in the grass, close to her, the Queen of the Walindis, covered with M. de Guéran's blood.
She did not turn away in disgust; on the contrary, she surprised herself in the act of contemplating this woman, who had for so long a time kept her husband a prisoner.
The features of the Queen, notwithstanding their cruel expression, were charming; her eyes full of determination; her lips full, bright red, and voluptuous to a degree; her shoulders, her limbs, and such parts of her body as could be distinguished from amidst the dust and blood covering it, were superbly moulded, splendidly formed.
As she looked at Walinda, she glanced, too, at M. de Guéran, and strange thoughts passed through her mind, and darkened her brow.
At length, she got up, and, as the serpent lying at her feet made another effort to get near her, to bite her, perhaps, she pushed her away with her foot contemptuously, but without any appearance of anger. At the same time, Nassar, not finding his prisoner at the place where he had left her, followed the track made by her body in the grass, came up to her, and, taking hold of the cords round her with both hands, lifted her up, and threw her farther away.
This short incident recalled Madame de Guéran back to reality; she looked round her, and was amazed to find that her friends and servants were no longer in sight. What had become of them? Presently she saw them approaching from the direction of the mountain. Were they going to fight again? What heaps of dead and dying were lying around them! Was it not high time to put an end to this carnage? No, they were not making ready to fight; they were waving their arms in the air, and making signs to somebody with their hands.
Who were they saluting after this fashion? She raised her eyes, and saw another body of men descending from the mountains by a road which she did not remember having seen in the morning.
At the head of the new-comers, marched a man dressed after the European fashion, of medium height and elegant figure. His hair, somewhat long, and his light beard looked like threads of gold in the brilliant sunlight. The black peak of his grey cap threw a shade over his wide forehead, straight nose, smiling lips, and large blue eyes with long eyelashes—a grand head, at once energetic and sweet.
He walked slowly, supporting himself by a lance, but with upright body, and apparent unconsciousness of the difficulties of the road. He took no notice either of the escort behind him, or that coming to meet him; he might be said to be making directly for Madame de Guéran, without seeing what was going on around him, with his eyes fixed on her alone.
Suddenly, she uttered a cry; she had just recognized him. She had recognized him first of all, from where she was, without stirring a step, even sooner than his best friends, who were almost touching him. It was he! It was he! He had overtaken her; he had found her in the desert, amidst chaos!
At first, when she recognized him, she felt as if she was going to faint and sink down to the ground. But she soon recovered herself, and an irresistible impulse appeared to attract her towards him who was drawing nearer and nearer, with his eyes fixed upon her.
She made two or three steps mechanically, and then stopped abruptly. All the blood, rushing from her heart, mounted into her cheeks; she raised her arms, covered her face with her hands, and, turning back, ran and knelt once more by the side of M. de Guéran, taking hold of his hands and kissing his forehead, as if she were imploring pardon and placing herself under the protection of her husband.
MM. Desrioux and Pommerelle had reached the base of the rock; a yard only separated them from the plain; they leaped down and fell into the arms of their friends, who had at last recognized them.
They looked at each other, shook hands, and embraced, too much moved to ask for either explanations or news, or to express either astonishment, curiosity, or gratitude.
The Beluchs andpagazisof Zanzibar at the same time fraternized with the Nubians, Soudan men, and Dinkas. They did not know each other, nor had they ever had an idea even of each other's existence; but they were birds of a feather all the same. They escorted caravans, carried baggage, and, in short, were colleagues—quite enough to justify the warmest embraces.
Whilst these pacific demonstrations were taking the place of the terrible battle which had just been fought, M. Desrioux left his friends, handed M. de Pommerelle over to them, and went alone towards Madame de Guéran.
She heard him coming, turned round and went a few steps to meet him, by this time calm, brave, quiet and self-possessed.
When he reached her and was looking at her without being able to say a word, she held out her hands and let them rest for a moment in his frankly, as a sister might do, in sight of all.
This affectionate reception enabled him to recover himself, and, presently he said in a low, sad tone—
"My mother died in my arms; she no longer needed me, and so—I am come to you."
"You have done well," she replied. "We will mourn your dear mother together."
After a short interval of silence she resumed—
"Did you, before you started, receive my last letter, dated fromKhartoum, in which I spoke of M. de Guéran?"
"No," said he, surprised. "What did you tell me about him?"
"I told you," she replied tremblingly, "that, according to the latest information, my husband was still living, and that I had every reason to hope that I should find him."
"Ah!" said he, paler than ever. "And have you found him?"
"Yes, but to lose him for ever, if you do not succeed in saving him."
"If he can be saved," he murmured, "I will save him!"
Madame de Guéran led Dr. Desrioux to the side of the wounded man. He knelt down on the grass, and looked fixedly for a long time at the man he was called upon to restore to life. The lover had vanished, and the man of science reappeared on the scene.
By the time he had risen, all the Europeans had come up and formed a single group. He drew Dr. Delange aside and was about to converse with him in an undertone, when Madame de Guéran stopped him and said—
"I wish to know the truth. Speak; I am strong enough to hear anything you may have to say."
"I have nothing to conceal from you," replied M. Desrioux. "I merely wished to ascertain whether my colleague was of the same opinion as myself, and to ask his permission to speak."
"Say on, my dear fellow, and do not be afraid of treading on my professional toes," said M. Delange. "I have, unfortunately for myself, and," he added, with a smile, "very possibly for others also, been a kind of amateur doctor, whilst you have devoted all your care, all your time, and all your intelligence to your profession. I look upon you as a master rather than a colleague."
M. Desrioux bowed, without speaking.
"Moreover," continued Dr. Delange, "I only acted for you amongst your friends and with this caravan. You have turned up, and even, if I did not give way before your talent and your high position, I should yield to your right."
"I thank you for all the kind things you have said about me," replied M. Desrioux. "But above all do I thank you for allowing me to attend upon M. de Guéran in conjunction with you. I have just examined his wounds, and I feel myself in a position to say that not one of them is serious. I would even add that they could be quickly cured, if the Baron were in his ordinary state of health. But before he was wounded he must have been ill for a long time, and very much pulled down; you can see that as well as I can. Recent occurrences have augmented his fever to an alarming extent; we must devote all our energies to reducing it, for it is heating his blood and will prevent the curing of his wounds. I only know one efficacious remedy, and that is, change of air."
"I agree with you," said Dr. Delange. "But how are we to remove M. de Guéran with the necessary speed to a more salubrious country than this, and to a fresh climate?"
"Nothing is easier," replied M. Desrioux. "I have opened up for you a road to the mountains. Let us all set out to-day, and to-morrow, on the lofty summits, thanks to the sudden change, the fever will be subdued, and we shall no longer have occasion to fear the brain affection which at this moment gives rise to serious alarm."
"Let us start, by all means, and as soon as possible. We have no possible inducement to remain here in the midst of all these corpses, too numerous for us to think of burying them. The air we are breathing on the plain will be deadly in a few hours."
"And you may as well add," said M. Périères chiming in, "that we may be attacked again from one moment to another. The amazons, when they recover from their first surprise, will re-form and march against us for the purpose of rescuing their Queen. I insist, also, on our immediate departure. What do you say, de Morin?"
"Certainly. This spot is both unhealthy and depressing, for we are not only surrounded by the corpses of our enemies, but more than one faithful follower lies dead beside us. I counted our loss in killed whilst Delange was attending to the wounded, and I find that we have lost thirty of our bearers, fifteen Nubian and Dinka soldiers, and about twenty of the Monbuttoos whom we had armed. I am as anxious as you are to get away at once from this accursed plain. But can we start at once? Our cattle have been killed and our provisions scattered far and wide. Ought we, denuded of all our resources as we are, to venture in such numbers up that mountain?"
"Provisions for a few days will suffice," replied M. Desrioux, "and I think we might at once collect what we have and divide them amongst our men. Just look at my escort; they have soon found a grazing ground in the midst of your camp, and they are making up, at your expense, for the privations they have suffered for some days past. As for the cattle, their loss is not to be regretted, seeing that we could not have taken them with us up the mountain. Besides, in ten or twelve days, we shall have reached Lake Albert, and on its western shore we shall find the caravan we left there with a sufficiently large quantity of provisions."
"I will also take the liberty of remarking in my turn," said M. de Pommerelle, "that if we do not start at once so as to reach Lake Albert on or before the 25th of December, the said caravan, which is not under any obligation to wait for us beyond a month, will have taken the road again with all our baggage and our most precious treasures."
"Very well," said M. de Morin. "That settles the question of provisions. But we have some duties to perform before we can think of starting—to bury our dead, for instance."
"Nassar, by my orders," said M. Périères, "is seeing to that. TheNubians will have a grave; indeed, it is already being dug."
"And Munza?" asked M. de Morin. "He died for us, or, at all events, in our cause."
"He is already buried," said M. Périères, and his tomb is worthy of his rank. The rock crushed his body in its fall and buried it in the ground. Instead of a tombstone, a mountain will mark the spot where rest his remains."
"But," urged de Morin once more, "what about his army? Have we any right to leave them to their fate?"
"Have we any more right," replied M. Périères, "to drag that horde of barbarians and cannibals into another part of Africa, into regions which enjoy, at any rate, the appearance of civilization? Moreover, my dear fellow, the Monbuttoos have but one idea—that of returning as quickly as possible to their own country. They would refuse to go any farther with us."
"That is possible; but when we are no longer by to assist them, they will be massacred by the Walindis."
"Or the Walindis by them," replied M. Périères. "Make use of your telescope. The whole army, which took to flight on the death of Munza, has, during the past hour, recovered its original formation, not to join us, not to defend us, but to destroy the villages, burn the huts, pursue the vanquished amazons, kill them, and, if you do not object to my saying so, undoubtedly eat them. Have we not already seen that little operation performed in the case of the Domondoos? I have no sympathy whatever, my dear fellow, with these people, and I cannot help saying that you, as a rule so full of common sense, are to-day raising objections to our departure which are absurd."
M. de Morin did not reply; but, leaning over to M. Périères, he said in a whisper—
"How can I be reasonable on such a day as this? Within twenty-four hours to stumble across a husband and a rival!"
"Do not make yourself out to be worse than you really are," replied M. Périères in the same tone. "The husband owes his deliverance to you alone, and you are only regretting that he has been restored to us in so deplorable a state. As regards Desrioux, do you bear him any ill-will for having saved our lives and opened up for us a road to Europe? If it had not been for him, my dear fellow, we should at this moment be either lying dead on the ground, or, what would not be much better, prisoners of Walinda."
"Wait a bit," said Delange, coming up. "I have no objection to being taken prisoner by her. Where is the sweet creature?"
"There she is," replied Périères, pointing to the Queen, who was still lying at full length on the grass.
"And what are we to do with her if we start to-day? Shall we let her go?"
"No, a thousand times no!" exclaimed de Morin. "We should be guilty of the gravest imprudence by doing anything of the sort. If she were restored to freedom she would lose no time in collecting together the scattered remnants of her army and would attack us afresh. Cannot you see how ferociously she looks at us?"
"I see," replied Delange, "that she is a splendid creature, quite worthy of the name I gave her, and the interest I take in her."
M. Périères, without paying the slightest attention to the words of the too susceptible Delange, said to M. de Morin—
"How can she attack us if we start to-day? She would not follow us up the mountain."
"Why not?"
"What road would she take?"
"The same that we are going to take," replied de Morin. "Up this rock suspended in mid-air. If we can scale it, encumbered with our baggage, our provisions, and our wounded, will the amazons, whose activity you have had every opportunity of remarking, find any difficulty in following us?"
"Upon my word," replied M. Périères. "You are decidedly off your head to-day; the most simple things escape you. As soon as ever our caravan reaches the plateau whence Desrioux first burst upon our gaze, all the men can insert their lances, after the fashion of levers, underneath the rock, which is simply leaning against the cliff. One good heave all together will suffice to overturn it; its base will roll over on to the plain just as its summit has already done, and the road to the mountain will once more be closed against the natives of these parts."
"You are right," said de Morin. "Our retreat is safe enough. I can only now plead the cause of the Monbuttoos. They are savages of the worst description, and cannibals to boot. I admit all that. But we ought to be all the more grateful to them for having neither molested nor eaten us. We cannot, therefore, under the pretext that Walinda will not be able to fight us, leave our ancient allies exposed to so dangerous an enemy."
"But how are we to get rid of her?" persisted M. Périères. "Do you intend to have her shot?"
"She certainly deserves it, and the idea has crossed my mind, but I lacked courage to give the order. If you like to take the responsibility—"
"Never. And you, Delange?"
"Not if I know it! She is far too pretty. All my anger fades away before her beauty. Why not take her with us? We can set her at liberty in eight or ten days, as by that time the Monbuttoos will have left the country. She is quite sharp enough, believe me, to discover the way back to her kingdom by herself."
"Yes," replied de Morin, "that is the only course open to us; we have no choice. But she is a very dangerous prisoner, and we must not let her out of our sight for a moment."
"I will take care of that," replied Delange, quickly.
"I thought we should come to that," replied M. de Morin, laughing. "Only—take care of Miss Poles! You are reinstated in her good graces; are you going to forfeit them once more?"
"My dear fellow," said Delange, "do not be alarmed. As soon as the new caravan appeared on the scene I was laid on the shelf. Just watch the look she bestows on Pommerelle, and observe the elaborate toilet she has made in his honour."
"For goodness sake, gentlemen, let us arrange about starting," said Dr. Desrioux, joining his three friends. "It is already three o'clock in the afternoon, and in the common interest we ought, this very night, to pitch our tent some twenty feet above this place."
The departure was not effected quite so easily as might have been anticipated. The de Guéran caravan, whilst the Europeans were laying their plans, had been making some of its own, and these plans consisted in resting until the evening, and then joining the Monbuttoos for the purpose of celebrating a united orgie on a gigantic scale in honour of the victory. As an exceptional case, and contrary to all their habits, the negroes were taking thought of the future, and had come to the conclusion that their chiefs intended to indulge them with a long spell of idleness. Had they not found the white man they had been seeking for so long? Had not the object of the journey been attained, and, before retracing their steps along the road by which they had come, were not both soldiers and porters entitled to make a long stay in the conquered country, the country of lovely women whose charms had been vaunted to arouse their zeal? These women were terrible in battle—that they had found out to their cost, but now that they were conquered and disarmed, they might possibly be found to possess an amount of amiability hitherto unsuspected.
Consequently, when an attempt was made to rouse the Nubians from their day-dreams, and warn them to be ready to start at once, some very significant murmuring was heard. Although, owing to the mingled firmness and tact of M. de Morin, the soldiers had learnt discipline, though for more than a year they had proved themselves to be faithful and devoted servants, and had become almost civilized by contact with the Europeans, as soon as a disposition was shown to rob them of the fruits of their victory and to restrain them from the indulgence of their ruling passion, they became what they were before — unreasonable, unmanageable and mutinous.
Their leaders had, in the long run, gained too great an ascendancy over them not to be able to overcome this resistance, which, after all, was more a matter of instinct than of reason. They made them understand that the hour for repose was not yet come, and that the Walindis might yet collect their scattered forces and attack them again. They showed them the heaps of dead bodies lying all around, and hinted that they too were still liable to share the fate of their friends. But, as soon as they comprehended that, instead of regaining the road to the north and going back to their own country, they were to scale the mountain range and go on southwards, they made fresh objections. It was all over with them! They would never more set eyes on the Dinka land, or their beloved Nubia, or the dear old Nile! When the Europeans arrived at the end of their journey, so far, far away, they would leave them to their fate, and how were they to get back to Khartoum?
These complaints were reasonable enough up to a certain point. The bearers and soldiers, it is true, had been engaged to follow their leaders whithersoever it might please the latter to go, but nobody then foresaw so long a journey. The return, indeed, would be a matter of considerable diflficulty for everybody, if these men were taken as far as Zanzibar.
"Why should we go there at all?" M. de Pommerelle was the first to suggest. "The journey is a long one, and it took us more than six months to accomplish it. How are we to get across Lake Albert again on our rafts? They did very well for us, because the current took us from east to west, but when it becomes a question of going against the current, what are our means of transport? Can we rely upon the inhabitants of Magungo, who saluted our departure with flights of arrows, sending their canoes to bring us over to the eastern side?"
"And even supposing," continued Dr. Desrioux, "that we manage to get across the lake, I dread the effect of the long journey and the unhealthy climate of certain parts of the country upon M. de Guéran."
"You have, I suppose," asked M. Périères, "some other route to propose?"
"Certainly I have. As soon as we have rejoined our caravan on the shore of the Albert Nyanza, there is nothing to prevent our remaining on the western side, and proceeding northwards to Gondokoro, as Baker, Speke, and Grant did. We are now in lat. 2° N., and Gondokoro, or Ismailia, is about 5°. It is a mere question of 3°, or, in other words, seventy-five leagues, a matter of six weeks at most. That is evidently the shortest way."
"Undoubtedly," said M. de Morin, "seeing that we are at least 8° fromZanzibar. But, when once we have reached that island we should be, asit were, at home again, because we could take ship there and steam toEurope."
"At Gondokoro," replied Dr. Desrioux, "we can hire a vessel. We shall then descend the Nile and set sail for France after a more direct fashion still."
"The proposed route appears to me to be an excellent one," said M. Périères, as if to close the discussion, "and I move that it be adopted. It has, moreover, one considerable advantage; it will enable us to overcome all the objections of our Nubians and Dinkas. We shall be taking them home in a straight line, and, if they so wish, we can drop them at their respective doors. Will you allow me to make this arrangement with them?"
MM. de Morin and Delange gave their consent, and M. de Pommerelle could not help being charmed at such a resolution.
"After having done so much," said he, "to come to Africa, I should have been in despair at having seen so little and being obliged to go back the same way. It is bad enough to be deprived of all chance of a peep at the countries of the Monbuttoos, the Niam-Niam, and the Bongos, but you must tell me all about them, and T will try to console myself."
"I will console you," said Miss Poles, accompanying her words by one of her most seductive smiles. "I will talk to you about King Kadjoro, a very charming man, and about his royal brother Munza, of whom I will not say one word in disparagement—his tomb is too close to us."
"Mind you tell himallyour adventures," said Dr. Delange, with a laugh.
"I will not forget anything, sir," replied Miss Poles, in a tone of pique. "A man like M. de Pommerelle is worthy of truth."
As she said the words—M. de Pommerelle—she plumed herself to such a degree, that there was no disguising the fact that he had made a great impression upon her.
Whilst this conversation was going on, M. Périères unfolded to Nassar and the Arab interpreters the plan of action he was about to adopt. They understood it at once, and undertook to explain it to the caravan.
After having settled matters with the Khartoum people, an arrangement had to be made with the Zanzibar contingent. When the latter heard of the proposed route, they began to grumble—"What was to become of them? How were they to get back from Gondokoro to the coast and their own country?" In reality, they had very little cause for complaint, as most of them had already made the trip, the central point in which is Lake Victoria, but they hoped, by means of grumbling, to secure an increase in their wages. They got what they wanted, for there was no dispensing with these fifty men, well armed and just calculated to fill up the gaps created by death in the de Guéran expedition.
Towards four o'clock in the afternoon, by dint of mingled arguments, threats and promises, the last efforts at resistance on the part of the two caravans were successfully overcome. Active preparations for departure were at once set on foot; the torn sacks were sewn up, cases closed again, and arms collected. The provisions and absolutely indispensable baggage were next got together, everything too cumbersome to be easily transported being left behind. Masters and servants, men and women, all concerned, worked their very hardest, Madame de Guéran alone remaining with her husband, whilst Queen Walinda, whose bonds had been made still more secure, lay motionless on the ground.
M. de Morin, on making a survey of this army of labourers, at length noticed that Joseph wasnon est. He had satisfied himself some time previously, when inspecting the field of battle, that his faithful servant was not amongst the killed, and, reassured on this essential head, he had not troubled himself any more about that useless being. But now that he could not see him, he became rather anxious. At the very commencement of the battle, Joseph had ensconced himself behind his bullock and a vast array of boxes—had he, too, like Munza, been buried underneath the rock? Was he sharing, with the King of the Monbuttoos, the honour of a royal tomb? Joseph's decease would certainly not compromise the success of the expedition in any one way, but M. de Morin had always had a certain weakness for his valet; he looked upon taking him back to the Rue Taitbout in a state of perfect preservation as a point of honour, and he thought himself bound, before making an official report of his death, to make some effort to find him alive. At first he called him by name, adding thereto a series of epithets by no means complimentary, such as "good-for-nothing," "lazy," "scoundrel," "coward." As Joseph did not respond to these appeals, M. de Morin grew more tender. "Joseph, my good Joseph, my dear Joseph, don't be afraid; the amazons have disappeared." This sweetness was equally futile; the valet remained invisible. His master then thought of drumming for him, there being no town-crier at hand with a bell. Accordingly a Nubian was provided with an empty tin case, and on it he executed a prolonged and artistic roll.
At the sound of the drum two serpents of the python species, called by the natives of Africametsé,pallah, ortari, were seen to glide out of a cleft at the bottom of the rock. Passionately fond of music, like all their race, they were attracted by the roll of the African drum. Presently, there appeared behind them a man, or, rather, the head of a man, whose body was enveloped by a python five metres long and from thirty to forty centimeters in circumference. The head belonged to Joseph. Early in the morning this brave servant had come to the conclusion that things would turn out badly for him, and that his barricade was by no means a sufficient protection. Creeping along the foot of the mountain, he slipped into a cleft which might have been constructed on purpose to afford him a hiding-place. But the serpents, alarmed by the firing, had hit upon precisely the same idea, had chosen the same refuge, and taking Joseph, who was paralysed by fear, for the trunk of a tree, had coiled themselves round him. For several hours the unhappy wretch was a silent spectator of the proceedings of these reptiles. A naturalist would assuredly have profited by the opportunity of studying their manners and customs, but Joseph, persuaded that his last hour was come, limited himself to repenting of his misdeeds, and silently confessing his sins.
At last the music produced its effect. Two of the serpents uncoiled themselves, one after the other, and left their perch, whilst the third, converting a point of a rock into a fulcrum, wound his tail round it, and, without quitting his victim, drew him outwards. A general rush was made to rescue Joseph as soon as his terror-stricken face, haggard eyes, and hair on end appeared in view, and as the pythons are quite harmless, they were driven away without difficulty. The lower orders of creation had certainly manifested a decided predilection for M. de Morin's valet. Bees, ants, leeches, termites of all kinds, and serpents had in turn disported themselves on his body, and left behind them charming reminiscences of his journey.
At five o'clock the united caravans were all ready to start.
The ascent of the rock, that bond of union between the plain and the mountain, was as easy as possible for the able-bodied men of the expedition, bat the work of conveying the wounded up it was perilous in the extreme. Every obstacle, however, was overcome, thanks to the ropes in possession of the Desrioux caravan. These were tied one to the other, and thus made a sort of railing, firmly fixed on the plateau by the first arrivals there, and descending along the whole length of the granite bridge right down to the plain. By the aid of this support, M. de Guéran was carried in a hammock, borne on poles.
The use of her legs was restored to Queen Walinda, by order of M. Delange, who was answerable for her, and four Nubians, strictly enjoined to watch her narrowly, made her walk in front of them. Contrary to the expectation of everybody, she did not make the slightest resistance, but scaled the rock deliberately, without a murmur or even turning her head, just as if she were leaving her dominions of her own free will. When she reached the plateau, she did not even glance back at the land of which, that very morning, she had been the sovereign. She appeared to have no eyes except for her former prisoner and for Madame de Guéran, who walked at his side.
The caravan by degrees wound along the defile traversed on the previous evening by MM. Desrioux and de Pommerelle. The Beluchs, who knew the road, formed the vanguard; then came the wounded, escorted by Drs. Desrioux and Delange, ever ready to aid them, and followed by the women and the bearers. The Nubians and Dinkas, commanded by Nassar and the Arab interpreters, brought up the rear.
Before joining the ranks, the Europeans acted on the hint given by M. Périères. Some soldiers, provided with lances to be used as levers, lifted the part of the rock which rested against the mountain, and by a resolute and united effort rolled the block of stone over on to the plain.
The amazons, however, did not seem disposed to follow up the Europeans and rescue their Queen; their whole attention was given to escaping from the Monbuttoos, who in the last hour or so had made themselves masters of the country. These people made a terrible use of the victory they had not gained, setting fire to all the villages and huts, dancing and frisking around the bonfires, and going into mourning for their King in the gayest fashion.
The Europeans, after having cast a sorrowful look over the field of carnage, and said a last adieu to the vast regions they had just traversed, followed the caravan. M. de Pommerelle walked beside his two friends, de Morin and Périères, and gave them—for up to this moment they had not had any opportunity for chatting—the latest news from Paris. This news was rather stale, eight months old in fact, seeing that the Count and the doctor had left France in the month of March, but they were none the less welcome to his hearers, exiles since October, 1872. M. de Pommerelle also told them how, in reading their letters, following them on the map, and trying to live their life, he had felt himself gradually acquiring a taste for far-off adventures. These and other confidential communications were interrupted by Miss Poles, who had left her place, allowed the caravan to defile before her, and now joined the Count de Pommerelle, that very attractive man, as she had just confided to Dr. Delange.
Left to themselves, MM. de Morin and Périères lighted a couple of those excellent cigars of which they had been so long deprived, a gift from M. de Pommerelle. After a few moments' silent enjoyment of these luxuries, they looked at each other, and the painter, said to the man of letters—
"Well, we have found him at last!"
"Yes, we have found him," replied M. Périères. "And, moreover, we may safely say that for a year past we have not left a stone unturned in that direction."
"With a chivalrous disinterestedness," added M. de Morin, "worthy a place in the records of practical morality."
"We shall figure in them one of these days, I dare say, my dear fellow; that is one consolation."
"But we have another."
"What is that?"
"We might have found him strong, well-to-do, and in perfect health, which would, I admit, have been all very well for him, but rather disagreeable for us. On the contrary he is in a deplorable state, and, to speak frankly, our jealousy has no longer anylocus standi."
"Our execution is only postponed," observed M. de Morin. "We have been told that none of his wounds are serious, and that the fever will leave him when he reaches the high ground. In a few days perhaps—"
"In a few days, my dear de Morin," added Périères, "the husband will doubtless be cured, but the wife will not."
"What do you mean?"
"My meaning is simple enough. To-day Madame de Guéran only beholds in her husband a wounded man, an invalid, almost at death's-door, whom it is her mission to recall to life. As soon as his health shall have been re-established, the husband will re-appear, and the sister of charity, a wife once more, will call him to account somewhat severely. She was only too ready to forget the errors, to use a mild word, of M. de Guéran, so long as she believed him dead or in captivity; she will remember them on the day of his restoration to life and health. She cannot conceal from herself that he left her very cavalierly, at the end of two years only of married life, to run about the world, and she already looks upon herself as having been rather a fool, believe me, for having taken so much trouble and encountered so many dangers to regain possession of an eccentric and fickle husband. Up to this time she has been fulfilling a duty, and she sees nothing but the heroism of her action. The heroism disappears with the fulfilment of the duty, and then the minor points of the subject will come to the surface.
"If she had found him still in the power of some terrible African potentate, reduced to slavery and more or less in durance vile, she would have been satisfied. But she surprised him in the midst of a tribe of very attractive women, or very uncommon, as you will admits One of them, their Queen by right both of birth and beauty, appears to love him to the verge of criminality. For fear he should escape her, she throws herself upon him, tears him in pieces like a wild beast, and if she does not kill him it is only because she is robbed of her prey. Madame de Guéran is fully alive to these—petty details, shall we call them? She is very keen, and nothing escapes her. She has divined what she has not seen, and she admits, as we do, that the Baron, to have inspired so sanguinary a passion, must for his part have afforded some grounds for it.
"She does not look upon him as criminal; so much I will concede. She is far too intelligent not to understand the difficulties of the situation, and the necessities of slavery; but she will for a long, long time, perhaps for ever, resent his having placed himself in such a position. There was nothing to compel him to leave Paris and expose himself to all these adventures. 'He ought not to have been, and gone, and done it,' she will say to herself, if she is aware of that vulgar phrase. We must also make due allowance for womanly pride, and the peculiar delicacy of Madame de Guéran. She cannot feel flattered at being the successor of a native of equatorial Africa. Rest assured that the recollection of this female savage will haunt her throughout the remainder of her life, and will be a perpetual moral shower bath. Queen Walinda is lovely in our eyes, and especially so in those of the susceptible Dr. Delange, but, as a woman, she does not exist, so far as Madame de Guéran is concerned. She is a being of some sort, a fine animal of the ape tribe, overlooked by naturalists in their classifications, and the Baroness will ever experience a feeling of repulsion towards the man who for six months took up his abode in the den of this semi-wild animal.
"I bring my long harangue to a close, my dear fellow, with these words. On the score of health M. de Guéran is not now formidable, and he will never be so for the simple reason that his wife is disillusionized."
"He is none the less her husband," observed M. de Morin. "He has been found, he lives, and his widow, whom we wished to marry, is out of our reach. But you are not so calm as you would have me believe. Whilst I was giving way to-day to my bad temper, you remained quiet and all smiles, but you did not suffer any the less. Come, make a clean breast of it."
"I admit it," exclaimed M. Périères. "I feel precisely as you do. I suffer, and I am jealous, not of the husband, rescued by us this morning on the plain, but of the rival who fell upon us from the top of the mountain. He is about to benefit by the state of mind and heart in which he finds the Baroness, and which I have just explained. He will benefit also by the rivalry of both of us, by that equality between us which has allowed Madame de Guéran to remain undecided and wavering, and by the love we have displayed for her, a love which has not roused any corresponding feeling in her heart, but has nevertheless prepared it for the reception of somebody else.
"Finally, rely upon it, he will benefit by the unexpected fashion of his appearance amongst us. The imagination of women is always taken by the marvellous, especially when it does not come to pass by design, when he who appears surrounded by fireworks has not consciously produced the illumination, and especially when he is as modest as he is brilliant. For I will do Desrioux justice, it was not his fault that he did not arrive by rail with his carpet bag in his hand. If he blew up the mountain, it was simply because he was without the means of scaling it; if he appeared to me in a cloud, duly furnished with wings, it was merely because chance, that great scene-painter, was pleased on this occasion to furnish a fairy-like tableau. Madame de Guéran was none the less moved by the explosion and its attendant apotheosis; even we were surprised into admiration. In a word, my dear fellow, and to make a long story short—we have been pulling the chestnuts out of the fire for the past year, and now Desrioux is going to eat them."
"You take it very smilingly, at all events."
"I laugh to keep myself from crying."
"And you accept the situation?"
"Just as you will have to accept it. What can we do? Any display of jealousy would be out of place and futile. Shall we quarrel with Desrioux? Have we dared to quarrel with each other? No, we recoiled from such an act of injustice, and we shall recoil again. Moreover, as I have already said, Desrioux, thanks to hiscoup de theâtre, has saved our lives, and people as a rule do not fall foul of their saviours. Reflection must show us that we have only one thing to do— to get back to Paris as soon as possible, and console ourselves as best we may, and if we can."
Just as this conversation came to an end, the caravan emerged from the defile through which it had been wending its way. After a day so full of incident the moment for well-earned repose had arrived. Tents were pitched for the Europeans on a plateau of some extent, whilst the people of Khartoum and Zanzibar sought a sleeping place in the clefts of the mountain, or lay down on the rocks, huddling close together to keep out the cold. The centigrade thermometers registered eighteen degrees, but the natives of central and southern Africa shiver in anything under twenty. This lowering of the temperature was on the contrary beneficial to M. de Guéran, and Dr. Desrioux, before quitting his patient, ascertained that the fever had decreased sensibly.
The camp was soon buried in repose—Venus in ebony alone, with her large eyes wide open, looked fixedly at the tent wherein reposed her former prisoner.
On the fifth day of March, the caravan reached the elevated plateau where the Ulindi territory had first met the gaze of Dr. Desrioux.
The long ascent, interspersed with equally precipitous descents, had been both arduous and dangerous. The bearers frequently stood in need of assistance, embarrassed as they were by their heavy loads, and they had to be helped along by the aid of ropes, and, occasionally, by means of relieving them of their burdens. Several bags of provisions and other things of great value to the Europeans were left on the mountain or fell into the abyss.
MM. Desrioux and de Pommerelle were here, there, and everywhere, endeavouring to hit upon the track they had traversed before, avoiding the paths which appeared to them to be too full of peril, discovering fresh ones, cheering and encouraging everybody.
Miss Poles was generally to be found close to them; if she hated the sea, she was proportionately fond of the mountain, and, like most Englishwomen, she was possessed of remarkable climbing powers. It was quite a treat to see her scale, often quite unnecessarily, a lofty summit, and, planting her lance upon it, take possession of it in the name of Great Britain, and bestow an English name on it. In this she was only imitating her fellow countrymen, who lose no time in christening all the mountains and lakes they discover, although it would be much more practical to retain the native designations. The French, Germans, and Americans appear determined to resist the stupid monomania, and Lakes Victoria, Albert, and Alexandra, and the cataract known as the Murchison Fall, in honour of the President of the Royal Geographical Society of London, will soon be designated on all maps by then primitive titles, M'Wootan, Oukéréonè, Akenyira. These names may not be quite so euphonious, but they are far more rational.
One day, whilst the caravan was resting on the top of a mountain, and before attempting the descent down its eastern side, M. de Morin joined M. Delange.
"Delange," said he, "in the exercise of my authority as leader of the caravan, for both Desrioux and de Pommerelle have thought fit to place their soldiers and bearers under my orders, I am under the necessity, in the common interest, of taking an important step."
"What is the matter? Your exordium rouses my curiosity."
"The matter is that we must release a prisoner in whom you appear to take a great interest."
"Queen Walinda? Yes, she is a splendid creature, and she interests me, from a purely artistic point of view."
"Quite so," said de Morin laughing.
"Well, my dear fellow," continued Delange, "the fact is that she is so wrapped up in her former admirer, that she has no eyes for any one else."
"Be that as it may," replied de Morin, "I intend, metaphorically speaking, to show her the door. It has taken us five days to reach this spot, but she could manage the return journey in three, and, during the week thus occupied, the Monbuttoos will have had time to escape from Ulinda. The Queen will no longer be in a position to exterminate them, and we shall have saved them, as was our duty, from any measures of reprisal."
"Do you think it absolutely necessary," asked Delange, "to be in such a hurry? Could we not keep her prisoner for a few days longer?"
"That would be cruel. The Queen will have hard enough work, as it is, to find her way out of the labyrinth of mountains without our making her task still more difficult."
"How is she ever to get out of it? The rock which served us as a means of communication between the mountain and the plain has been overthrown into the abyss. An empty space, thirty yards high, separates her from her kingdom."
"First of all, my dear Delange," replied M. de Morin, "permit me to point out that your thirty yards may be reduced to twenty, seeing that the rock is at least ten yards thick. Secondly, in anticipation of this little difficulty, I have paid your friend the delicate attention of leaving on the plateau the rope which we used as a railing. Walinda is quite capable of uncoiling it, and she is quite agile enough to descend to her own country with its assistance. So, you see, you need not be at all uneasy as to the fate of this very interesting person."
"Possibly so, but you are far more anxious about her return to her dominions than she is herself. She does not wish to leave us."
"That is possible also, but, unfortunately, I most decidedly wish her to leave us."
"Why, may I ask?"
"Because, in my idea, she is an element of danger in the midst of our caravan. She has not been able to accept her defeat, closely followed by her ruin, with resignation, and she is sure to be plotting something terrible against us."
"How can she do anything, bound and closely watched as she is?"
"In the long run some cord will give way, or her keepers will fall asleep, and, to tell you the truth, I have not much confidence in you as a chief warder. A clever and pretty—for she must be pretty— prisoner would have very little difficulty in getting possession of your bunch of keys, for your eyes would see nothing but the thief."
"You think so?"
"I am sure of it. But, if this reason is not sufficient for you, I have another at your service. We have no right any longer to inflict upon Madame de Guéran the sight of a woman who must recall to her mind unpleasant thoughts."
"Oh! as for that," said Dr. Delange, "Madame de Guéran has no cause for complaint. She has never found herself in the society of my prisoner, and if she has seen her it is quite her own fault. In a caravan, a hundred and fifty strong, marching in single file and winding about continually, one individual can very easily remain unseen. I do not say that the Queen has displayed this amount of delicacy, but I have displayed it for her. Several Nubians, by my orders, have surrounded her continually and kept her as far as possible from the Baroness.
"Forgive me," said de Morin. "I was wrong in mentioning this detail, and I apologize. But the other reasons I have advanced in favour of the immediate liberation of your prisoner are, I think, unanswerable. They are quite enough for me, and ought to be so for you. Consequently, you will have the goodness to attend to them."
"Your orders shall be obeyed, sir, by me," said Delange, bringing his hand up to the salute, "but I cannot answer for Walinda. She may not be willing to leave us."
"Out of love for her gaoler?" said de Mori smiling.
"Alas! no. The gaoler is not taken into consideration. The whilom prisoner is alone in question."
"All the more reason for getting rid of her at once. And now I leave you to give orders for her release, and I rely upon you to assist me in getting rid of her."
"You may rely upon me, since it is my duty," said Delange with a sigh.
As soon as de Morin had taken his departure, M. Delange had the Queen brought before him, and he gave the necessary orders for her to be set at liberty.
The men of the escort expected to see her give some sign of pleasure, but she did nothing of the kind. She, on the contrary, looked about her with an air of uneasiness.
"She thinks, perhaps, that we are going to kill her," said Nassar in reply to a question from M. Delange.
"Try to explain to her," replied the Doctor, "that she is at liberty, and may return to hor kingdom."
Did Walinda understand the interpreter? None could tell. She was crouching on a rock, and, instead of glancing towards the territory of Ulindi, which appeared in the far distance, and was pointed out to her, she in silence and immobility fixed her eyes on the caravan, now on the move once more, and winding like a serpent round the mountain.
M. Delange had not the courage to prolong the situation. He took a last look on the splendid creature whom he thought he should never see again, then turned away abruptly and, with his men, rejoined the rear guard of the caravan.
In an hour's time, when he had reached a dell commanded by the plateau he had just left, he turned his head once more.
Walinda, illumined by the burning rays of the setting sun, was still in the same place on the rock. He took his telescope and looked at her for a long time. Her head was always turned towards the caravan, but he could no longer distinguish either the covering left with her to protect her against the cold, or the bag of provisions which had been placed round her neck. She had hurled these presents from the Europeans into the abyss.
"Does she want to die of hunger and cold?" said Delange to himself.
Filled with sorrow for the unhappy being, he went to the front and overtook his friends. MM. de Morin and Périères were still interchanging their mutual confessions. Miss Poles was sighing by the side of M. de Pommerelle, and M. de Guéran, carried in his hammock, was being borne on his way escorted by his wife and Dr. Desrioux.