I awakened in my room. The sun, already at its zenith, filled the
place with unbearable light and heat.
The first thing I saw, on opening my eyes, was the shade, ripped down,
lying in the middle of the floor. Then, confusedly, the night's events
began to come back to me.
My head felt stupid and heavy. My mind wandered. My memory seemed
blocked. "I went out with the leopard, that is certain. That red mark
on my forefinger shows how he strained at the leash. My knees are
still dusty. I remember creeping along the wall in the room where the
white Tuareg were playing at dice. That was the minute after King
Hiram had leapt past them. After that ... oh, Morhange and Antinea....
And then?"
I recalled nothing more. I recalled nothing more. But something must
have happened, something which I could not remember.
I was uneasy. I wanted to go back, yet it seemed as if I were afraid
to go. I have never felt anything more painful than those conflicting
emotions.
"It is a long way from here to Antinea's apartments. I must have been
very sound asleep not to have noticed when they brought me back--for
they have brought me back."
I stopped trying to think it out. My head ached too much.
"I must have air," I murmured. "I am roasting here; it will drive me
mad."
I had to see someone, no matter whom. Mechanically, I walked toward
the library.
I found M. Le Mesge in a transport of delirious joy. The Professor was
engaged in opening an enormous bale, carefully sewed in a brown
blanket.
"You come at a good time, sir," he cried, on seeing me enter. "The
magazines have just arrived."
He dashed about in feverish haste. Presently a stream of pamphlets and
magazines, blue, green, yellow and salmon, was bursting from an
opening in the bale.
"Splendid, splendid!" he cried, dancing with joy. "Not too late,
either; here are the numbers for October fifteenth. We must give a
vote of thanks to good Ameur."
His good spirits were contagious.
"There is a good Turkish merchant who subscribes to all the
interesting magazines of the two continents. He sends them on by
Rhadamès to a destination which he little suspects. Ah, here are the
French ones."
M. Le Mesge ran feverishly over, the tables of contents.
"Internal politics: articles by Francis Charmes, Anatole
Leroy-Beaulieu, d'Haussonville on the Czar's trip to Paris. Look, a
study by Avenel of wages in the Middle Ages. And verse, verses of the
young poets, Fernand Gregh, Edmond Haraucourt. Ah, the resumé of a
book by Henry de Castries on Islam. That may be interesting.... Take
what you please."