Atlantida | Page 6

"'I must thank you, my dear fellow, for having given yourself so much trouble. But it is
quite unnecessary. I am out of sorts and have no intention of going ashore. At least, I
have the pleasure of having made your acquaintance. Since I cannot profit by your
hospitality, you must do me the favor of accepting mine as long as the launch stays by the
vessel.'
"Then we went back to the smoking-room. He himself mixed the cocktails. He talked to
me. We discovered that we had mutual acquaintances. Never shall I forget that face, that
ironic and distant look, that sad and melodious voice. Ah! Colonel, gentlemen, I don't
know what they may say at the Geographic Office, or in the posts of the Soudan.... There
can be nothing in it but a horrible suspicion. Such a man, capable of such a
crime,--believe me, it is not possible.
"That is all, Lieutenant," finished Chatelain, after a silence. "I have never seen a sadder
meal than that one. The officers hurried through lunch without a word being spoken, in
an atmosphere of depression against which no one tried to struggle. And in this complete
silence, you could see them always furtively watching the City of Naples, where she was
dancing merrily in the breeze, a league from shore.
"She was still there in the evening when they assembled for dinner, and it was not until a
blast of the whistle, followed by curls of smoke escaping from the red and black
smokestack had announced the departure of the vessel for Gabes, that conversation was
resumed; and even then, less gaily than usual.
"After that, Lieutenant, at the Officers' Club at Sfax, they avoided like the plague any
subject which risked leading the conversation back to Captain de Saint-Avit."
Chatelain had spoken almost in a whisper, and the little people of the desert had not heard
this singular history. It was an hour since we had fired our last cartridge. Around the pool
the turtle doves, once more reassured, were bathing their feathers. Mysterious great birds
were flying under the darkening palm trees. A less warm wind rocked the trembling black
palm branches. We had laid aside our helmets so that our temples could welcome the
touch of the feeble breeze.
"Chatelain," I said, "it is time to go back to the bordj."
Slowly we picked up the dead doves. I felt the Sergeant looking at me reproachfully, as if
regretting that he had spoken. Yet during all the time that our return trip lasted, I could
not find the strength to break our desolate silence with a single word.

The night had almost fallen when we arrived. The flag which surmounted the post was
still visible, drooping on its standard, but already its colors were indistinguishable. To the
west the sun had disappeared behind the dunes gashed against the black violet of the sky.
When we had crossed the gate of the fortifications, Chatelain left me.
"I am going to the stables," he said.
I returned alone to that part of the fort where the billets for the Europeans and the stores
of ammunition were located. An inexpressible sadness weighed upon me.
I thought of my comrades in French garrisons. At this hour they must be returning home
to find awaiting them, spread out upon the bed, their dress uniform, their braided tunic,
their sparkling epaulettes.
"Tomorrow," I said to myself, "I shall request a change of station."
The stairway of hard-packed earth was already black. But a few gleams of light still
seemed palely prowling in the office when I entered.
A man was sitting at my desk, bending over the files of orders. His back was toward me.
He did not hear me enter.
"Really, Gourrut, my lad, I beg you not to disturb yourself. Make yourself completely at
home."
The man had risen, and I saw him to be quite tall, slender and very pale.
"Lieutenant Ferrières, is it not?"
He advanced, holding out his hand.
"Captain de Saint-Avit. Delighted, my dear fellow."
At the same time Chatelain appeared on the threshold.
"Sergeant," said the newcomer, "I cannot congratulate you on the little I have seen. There
is not a camel saddle which is not in want of buckles, and they are rusty enough to
suggest that it rains at Hassi-Inifel three hundred days in the year. Furthermore, where
were you this afternoon? Among the four Frenchmen who compose the post, I found only
on my arrival one convict, opposite a quart of eau-de-vie. We will change all that, I hope.
At ease."
"Captain," I said, and my voice was colorless, while Chatelain remained frozen at
attention, "I must tell you that the Sergeant was with me, that it is I who am responsible
for his absence