Atlantida | Page 8

the regions of the Sahara were reunited between the four rough-cast
walls of that little room of the bordj. Herodotus and Pliny, naturally, and likewise Strabo
and Ptolemy, Pomponius Mela, and Ammien Marcellin. But besides these names which
reassured my ignorance a little, I perceived those of Corippus, of Paul Orose, of
Eratosthenes, of Photius, of Diodorus of Sicily, of Solon, of Dion Cassius, of Isidor of
Seville, of Martin de Tyre, of Ethicus, of Athenée, the Scriptores Historiae Augustae, the
Itinerarium Antonini Augusti, the Geographi Latini Minores of Riese, the Geographi
Graeci Minores of Karl Muller.... Since I have had the occasion to familiarize myself
with Agatarchides of Cos and Artemidorus of Ephesus, but I admit that in this instance
the presence of their dissertations in the saddle bags of a captain of cavalry caused me
some amazement.

I mention further the Descrittione dell' Africa by Leon l'African, the Arabian Histories of
Ibn-Khaldoun, of Al-Iaquob, of El-Bekri, of Ibn-Batoutah, of Mahommed El-Tounsi.... In
the midst of this Babel, I remember the names of only two volumes of contemporary
French scholars. There were also the laborious theses of Berlioux[3] and of Schirmer.[4]
[Footnote 3: Doctrina Ptolemaei ab injuria recentiorum vindicata, sive Nilus Superior et
Niger verus, hodiernus Eghiren, ab anitiquis explorati. Paris, 8vo, 1874, with two maps.
(Note by M. Leroux.)]
[Footnote 4: De nomine et genere popularum qui berberi vulgo dicuntur. Paris, 8vo, 1892.
(Note by M. Leroux.)]
While I proceeded to make piles of as similar dimensions as possible I kept saying to
myself:
"To think that I have been believing all this time that in his mission with Morhange,
Saint-Avit was particularly concerned in scientific observations. Either my memory
deceives me strangely or he is riding a horse of another color. What is sure is that there is
nothing for me in the midst of all this chaos."
He must have read on my face the signs of too apparently expressed surprise, for he said
in a tone in which I divined a tinge of defiance:
"The choice of these books surprises you a bit?"
"I can't say it surprises me," I replied, "since I don't know the nature of the work for
which you have collected them. In any case I dare say, without fear of being contradicted,
that never before has officer of the Arabian Office possessed a library in which the
humanities were so, well represented."
He smiled evasively, and that day we pursued the subject no further.
Among Saint-Avit's books I had noticed a voluminous notebook secured by a strong lock.
Several times I surprised him in the act of making notations in it. When for any reason he
was called out of the room he placed his album carefully in a small cabinet of white wood,
provided by the munificence of the Administration. When he was not writing and the
office did not require his presence, he had the mehari which he had brought with him
saddled, and a few minutes later, from the terrace of the fortifications, I could see the
double silhouette disappearing with great strides behind a hummock of red earth on the
horizon.
Each time these trips lasted longer. From each he returned in a kind of exaltation which
made me watch him with daily increasing disquietude during meal hours, the only time
we passed quite alone together.
"Well," I said to myself one day when his remarks had been more lacking in sequence
than usual, "it's no fun being aboard a submarine when the captain takes opium. What
drug can this fellow be taking, anyway?"

Next day I looked hurriedly through my comrade's drawers. This inspection, which I
believed to be my duty, reassured me momentarily. "All very good," I thought, "provided
he does not carry with him his capsules and his Pravaz syringe."
I was still in that stage where I could suppose that André's imagination needed artificial
stimulants.
Meticulous observation undeceived me. There was nothing suspicious in this respect.
Moreover, he rarely drank and almost never smoked.
And nevertheless, there was no means of denying the increase of his disquieting
feverishness. He returned from his expeditions each time with his eyes more brilliant. He
was paler, more animated, more irritable.
One evening he left the post about six o'clock, at the end of the greatest heat of the day.
We waited for him all night. My anxiety was all the stronger because quite recently
caravans had brought tidings of bands of robbers in the neighborhood of the post.
At dawn he had not returned. He did not come before midday. His camel collapsed under
him, rather than knelt.
He realized that he must excuse himself, but he waited till we were alone at lunch.
"I am so sorry to have caused you any anxiety. But the dunes