XII
MORHANGE DISAPPEARS
My fatigue was so great that I lay as if unconscious until the nextday. I awoke about three o'clock in the afternoon.
I thought at once of the events of the previous day; they seemedamazing.
"Let me see," I said to myself. "Let us work this out. I must begin byconsulting Morhange."
I was ravenously hungry.
The gong which Tanit-Zerga had pointed out lay within arm's reach. Istruck it. A white Targa appeared.
"Show me the way to the library," I ordered.
He obeyed. As we wound our way through the labyrinth of stairs andcorridors I realized that I could never have found my way without hishelp.
Morhange was in the library, intently reading a manuscript.
"A lost treatise of Saint Optat," he said. "Oh, if only Dom Grangerwere here. See, it is written in semi-uncial characters."
I did not reply. My eyes were fixed on an object which lay on thetable beside the manuscript. It was an orichalch ring, exactly likethat which Antinea had given me the previous day and the one which sheherself wore.
Morhange smiled.
"Well?" I said.
"Well?"
"You have seen her?"
"I have indeed," Morhange replied.
"She is beautiful, is she not?"
"It would be difficult to dispute that," my comrade answered. "I evenbelieve that I can say that she is as intelligent as she isbeautiful."
There was a pause. Morhange was calmly fingering the orichalch ring.
"You know what our fate is to be?"
"I know. Le Mesge explained it to us yesterday in polite mythologicalterms. This evidently is an extraordinary adventure."
He was silent, then said, looking at me:
"I am very sorry to have dragged you here. The only mitigating featureis that since last evening you seem to have been bearing your lot veryeasily."
Where had Morhange learned this insight into the human heart? I didnot reply, thus giving him the best of proofs that he had judgedcorrectly.
"What do you think of doing?" I finally murmured.
He rolled up the manuscript, leaned back comfortably in his armchairand lit a cigar.
"I have thought it over carefully. With the aid of my conscience Ihave marked out a line of conduct. The matter is clear and admits nodiscussion.
"The question is not quite the same for me as for you, because of mysemi-religious character, which, I admit, has set out on a ratherdoubtful adventure. To be sure, I have not taken holy orders, but,even aside from the fact that the ninth commandment itself forbids myhaving relations with a woman not my wife, I admit that I have notaste for the kind of forced servitude for which the excellentCegheir-ben-Cheikh has so kindly recruited us.
"That granted, the fact remains that my life is not my own with theright to dispose of it as might a private explorer travelling at hisown expenses and for his own ends. I have a mission to accomplish,results to obtain. If I could regain my liberty by paying the singularransom which this country exacts, I should consent to givesatisfaction to Antinea according to my ability. I know the toleranceof the Church, and especially that of the order to which I aspire:such a procedure would be ratified immediately and, who knows, perhapseven approved? Saint Mary the Egyptian, gave her body to boatmen undersimilar circumstances. She received only glorification for it. In sodoing she had the certainty of attaining her goal, which was holy. Theend justified the means.
"But my case is quite different. If I give in to the absurd capricesof this woman, that will not keep me from being catalogued down in thered marble hall, as Number 54, or as Number 55, if she prefers to takeyou first. Under those conditions...."
"Under those conditions?"
"Under those conditions, it would be unpardonable for me toacquiesce."
"Then what do you intend to do?"
"What do I intend to do?" Morhange leaned back in the armchair andsmilingly launched a puff of smoke toward the ceiling.
"Nothing," he said. "And that is all that is necessary. Man has thissuperiority over woman. He is so constructed that he can refuseadvances."
Then he added with an ironical smile:
"A man cannot be forced to accept unless he wishes to."
I nodded.
"I tried the most subtle reasoning on Antinea," he continued. "It wasbreath wasted. 'But,' I said at the end of my arguments, 'why not LeMesge?' She began to laugh. 'Why not the Reverend Spardek?' shereplied. 'Le Mesge and Spardek are savants whom I respect. But
_Maudit soit a jamais reveur inutile, Qui voulut, le premier, dans sa stupidite, S'eprenant d'un probleme insoluble et sterile, Aux choses de l'amour meler l'honnetete._
"'Besides,' she added with that really very charming smile of hers,'probably you have not looked carefully at either of them.' Therefollowed several compliments on my figure, to which I found nothing toreply, so completely had she disarmed me by those four lines fromBaudelaire.
"She condescended to explain further: 'Le Mesge is a learned gentlemanwhom I find useful. He knows Spanish and Italian, keeps my papers inorder, and is busy working out my genealogy. The Reverend Spardekknows English and German. Count Bielowsky is thoroughly conversantwith the Slavic languages. Besides, I love him like a father. He knewme as a child when I had not dreamed such stupid things as you knowof me. They are indispensable to me in my relations with visitors ofdifferent races, although I am beginning to get along well enough inthe languages which I need.... But I am talking a great deal, and thisis the first time that I have ever explained my conduct. Your friendis not so curious.' With that, she dismissed me. A strange womanindeed. I think there is a bit of Renan in her but she is clevererthan that master of sensualism."
"Gentlemen," said Le Mesge, suddenly entering the room, "why are youso late? They are waiting dinner for you."
The little Professor was in a particularly good humor that evening. Hewore a new violet rosette.
"Well?" he said, in a mocking tone, "you have seen her?"
Neither Morhange nor I replied.
The Reverend Spardek and the Hetmari of Jitomir already had beguneating when we arrived. The setting sun threw raspberry lights on thecream-colored mat.
"Be seated, gentlemen," said Le Mesge noisily. "Lieutenant deSaint-Avit, you were not with us last evening. You are about to tastethe cooking of Koukou, our Bambara chef, for the first time. You mustgive me your opinion of it."
A Negro waiter set before me a superb fish covered with a pimentosauce as red as tomatoes.
I have explained that I was ravenously hungry. The dish was exquisite.The sauce immediately made me thirsty.
"White Ahaggar, 1879," the Herman of Jitomir breathed in my ear as hefilled my goblet with a clear topaz liquid. "I developed it myself:_rien pour la tete, tout pour les jambes_."
I emptied the goblet at a gulp. The company began to seem charming.
"Well, Captain Morhange," Le Mesge called out to my comrade who hadtaken a mouthful of fish, "what do you say to this acanthopterygian?It was caught to-day in the lake in the oasis. Do you begin to admitthe hypothesis of the Saharan sea?"
"The fish is an argument," my companion replied.
Suddenly he became silent. The door had opened. A white Targa entered.The diners stopped talking.
The veiled man walked slowly toward Morhange and touched his rightarm.
"Very well," said Morhange.
He got up and followed the messenger.
The pitcher of Ahaggar, 1879, stood between me and Count Bielowsky. Ifilled my goblet--a goblet which held a pint, and gulped it down.
The Hetman looked at me sympathetically.
"Ha, ha!" laughed Le Mesge, nudging me with his elbow. "Antinea hasrespect for the hierarchic order."
The Reverend Spardek smiled modestly.
"Ha, ha!" laughed Le Mesge again.
My glass was empty. For a moment I was tempted to hurl it at the headof the Fellow in History. But what of it? I f
illed it and emptied itagain.
"Morhange will miss this delicious roast of mutton," said theProfessor, more and more hilarious, as he awarded himself a thickslice of meat.
"He won't regret it," said the Hetman crossly. "This is not roast; itis ram's horn. Really Koukou is beginning to make fun of us."
"Blame it on the Reverend," the shrill voice of Le Mesge cut in. "Ihave told him often enough to hunt other proselytes and leave our cookalone."
"Professor," Spardek began with dignity.
"I maintain my contention," cried Le Mesge, who seemed to me to begetting a bit overloaded. "I call the gentleman to witness," he wenton, turning to me. "He has just come. He is unbiased. Therefore I askhim: has one the right to spoil a Bambara cook by addling his headwith theological discussions for which he has no predisposition?"
"Alas!" the pastor replied sadly. "You are mistaken. He has only toostrong a propensity to controversy."
"Koukou is a good-for-nothing who uses Colas' cow as an excuse fordoing nothing and letting our scallops burn," declared the Hetman."Long live the Pope!" he cried, filling the glasses all around.
"I assure you that this Bambara worries me," Spardek went on withgreat dignity. "Do you know what he has come to? He deniestransubstantiation. He is within an inch of the heresy of Zwingli andOecolampades. Koukou denies transubstantiation."
"Sir," said Le Mesge, very much excited, "cooks should be left inpeace. Jesus, whom I consider as good a theologian as you, understoodthat, and it never occurred to him to call Martha away from her ovento talk nonsense to her."
"Exactly so," said the Hetman approvingly.
He was holding a jar between his knees and trying to draw its cork.
"Oh, Cotes Roties, wines from the Cote-Rotie!" he murmured to me as hefinally succeeded. "Touch glasses."
"Koukou denies transubstantiation," the pastor continued, sadlyemptying his glass.
"Eh!" said the Hetman of Jitomir in my ear, "let them talk on. Don'tyou see that they are quite drunk?"
His own voice was thick. He had the greatest difficulty in the worldin filling my goblet to the brim.
I wanted to push the pitcher away. Then an idea came to me:
"At this very moment, Morhange.... Whatever he may say.... She is sobeautiful."
I reached out for the glass and emptied it once more.
Le Mesge and the pastor were now engaged in the most extraordinaryreligious controversy, throwing at each other's heads the Book ofCommon Prayer, The Declaration of the Rights of Man, and theUnigenitus. Little by little, the Hetman began to show that ascendancyover them, which is the characteristic of a man of the world even whenhe is thoroughly drunk; the superiority of education over instruction.
Count Bielowsky had drunk five times as much as the Professor or thepastor. But he carried his wine ten times better.
"Let us leave these drunken fellows," he said with disgust. "Come on,old man. Our partners are waiting in the gaming room."
"Ladies and gentlemen," said the Hetman as we entered. "Permit me topresent a new player to you, my friend, Lieutenant de Saint-Avit."
"Let it go at that," he murmured in my ear. "They are the servants.But I like to fool myself, you see."
I saw that he was very drunk indeed.
The gaming room was very long and narrow. A huge table, almost levelwith the floor and surrounded with cushions on which a dozen nativeswere lying, was the chief article of furniture. Two engravings on thewall gave evidence of the happiest broadmindedness in taste; one of daVinci's St. John the Baptist, and the _Maison des DernieresCartouches_ of Alphonse de Neuville.
On the table were earthenware goblets. A heavy jar held palm liqueur.
I recognized acquaintances among those present; my masseur, themanicure, the barber, and two or three Tuareg who had lowered theirveils and were gravely smoking long pipes. While waiting for somethingbetter, all were plunged in the delights of a card game that lookedlike "rams." Two of Antinea's beautiful ladies in waiting, Aguida andSydya, were among the number. Their smooth bistre skins gleamedbeneath veils shot with silver. I was sorry not to see the red silktunic of Tanit-Zerga. Again, I thought of Morhange, but only for aninstant.
"The chips, Koukou," demanded the Hetman, "We are not here to amuseourselves."
The Zwinglian cook placed a box of many-colored chips in front of him.Count Bielowsky set about counting them and arranging them in littlepiles with infinite care.
"The white are worth a _louis_," he explained to me. "The red, ahundred francs. The yellow, five hundred. The green, a thousand. Oh,it's the devil of a game that we play here. You will see."
"I open with ten thousand," said the Zwinglian cook.
"Twelve thousand," said the Hetman.
"Thirteen," said Sydya with a slow smile, as she seated herself on thecount's knee and began to arrange her chips lovingly in little piles.
"Fourteen," I said.
"Fifteen," said the sharp voice of Rosita, the old manicure.
"Seventeen," proclaimed the Hetman.
"Twenty thousand," the cook broke in.
He hammered on the table and, casting a defiant look at us, repeated:
"I take it at twenty thousand."
The Hetman made an impatient gesture.
"That devil, Koukou! You can't do anything against the beast. You willhave to play carefully, Lieutenant."
Koukou had taken his place at the end of the table. He threw down thecards with an air which abashed me.
"I told you so; the way it was at Anna Deslions'," the Hetman murmuredproudly.
"Make your bets, gentlemen," yelped the Negro. "Make your bets."
"Wait, you beast," called Bielowsky. "Don't you see that the glassesare empty? Here, Cacambo."
The goblets were filled immediately by the jolly masseur.
"Cut," said Koukou, addressing Sydya, the beautiful Targa who sat athis right.
The girl cut, like one who knows superstitions, with her left hand.But it must be said that her right was busy lifting a cup to her lips.I watched the curve of her beautiful throat.
"My deal," said Koukou.
We were thus arranged: at the left, the Hetman, Aguida, whose waist hehad encircled with the most aristocratic freedom, Cacambo, a Tuaregwoman, then two veiled Negroes who were watching the game intently. Atthe right, Sydya, myself, the old manicure, Rosita, Barouf, thebarber, another woman and two white Tuareg, grave and attentive,exactly opposite those on the left.
"Give me one," said the Hetman.
Sydya made a negative gesture.
Koukou drew, passed a four-spot to the Hetman, gave himself a five.
"Eight," announced Bielowsky.
"Six," said pretty Sydya.
"Seven," broke in Koukou. "One card makes up for another," he addedcoldly.
"I double," said the Hetman.
Cacambo and Aguida followed his example. On our side, we were morecareful. The manicure especially would not risk more than twentyfrancs at a time.
"I demand that the cards be evened up," said Koukou imperturbably.
"This fellow is unbearable," grumbled the count. "There, are yousatisfied?"
Koukou dealt and laid down a nine.
"My country and my honor!" raged Bielowsky. "I had an eight."
I had two kings, and so showed no ill temper. Rosita took the cardsout of my hands.
I watched Sydya at my right. Her heavy black hair covered hershoulders. She was really very beautiful, though a bit tipsy, as wereall that fantastic company. She looked at me, too, but with loweredeyelids, like a timid little wild animal.
"Oh," I thought. "She may well be afraid. I am labelled 'Notrespassing.'"
I touched her foot. She drew it back in fright.
"Who wants cards?" Koukou demanded.
"Not I," said the Hetman.
"Served," said Sydya.
The cook drew a four.
"Nine," he said.
"That card was meant for me," cursed the count. "And five, I had af
ive. If only I had never promised his Majesty the Emperor Napoleon IInever to cut fives! There are times when it is hard, very hard. Andlook at that beast of a Negro who plays Charlemagne."
It was true. Koukou swept in three-quarters of the chips, rose withdignity, and bowed to the company.
"Till to-morrow, gentlemen."
"Get along, the whole pack of you," howled the Hetman of Jitomir."Stay with me, Lieutenant de Saint-Avit."
When we were alone, he poured out another huge cupfull of liqueur. Theceiling of the room was lost in the gray smoke.
"What time is it?" I asked.
"After midnight. But you are not going to leave me like this, my dearboy? I am heavy-hearted."
He wept bitterly. The tail of his coat spread out on the divan behindhim like the apple-green wings of a beetle.
"Isn't Aguida a beauty?" he went on, still weeping. "She makes methink of the Countess de Teruel, though she is a little darker. Youknow the Countess de Teruel, Mercedes, who went in bathing nude atBiarritz, in front of the rock of the Virgin, one day when PrinceBismarck was standing on the foot-bridge. You do not remember her?Mercedes de Teruel."
I shrugged my shoulders.
"I forget; you must have been too young. Two, perhaps three years old.A child. Yes, a child. Oh, my child, to have been of that generationand to be reduced to playing cards with savages ... I must tellyou...."
I stood up and pushed him off.
"Stay, stay," he implored. "I will tell you everything you want toknow, how I came here, things I have never told anyone. Stay, I mustunbosom myself to a true friend. I will tell you everything, I repeat.I trust you. You are a Frenchman, a gentleman. I know that you willrepeat nothing to her."
"That I will repeat nothing to her?... To whom?"
His voice stuck in his throat. I thought I saw a shudder of fear passover him.
"To her ... to Antinea," he murmured.
I sat down again.