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It was as if the order of Berselius still rang in his ears and the vision of Berselius still dominated his mind. Adams, thinking of this strange thing, stood with the wind fanning his face, looking over the country to the west, the country they had traversed that day in tribulation under the burning sun.
"You know M. Thénard intimately?" said Captain Berselius, turning suddenly from some remarks he was making on the United States. "Oh, no," said Adams. "I have attended his clinics; beyond that " "Just so," said the other. "Are you a good shot?" "Fair, with the rifle." "You have had to do with big game?" "I have shot bear." "These are some of my trophies," said the Captain, rising to his feet.
These bloodthirsty wretches, inured to death and thinking nothing of it, seemed cast down, and at the camping place they drew aside, chattered together for a few minutes, and then the corporal came to Berselius and began a harangue, his eyes rolling toward Adams now and then as he proceeded. Berselius listened, spoke a few words, and then turned to Adams.
And still" he burst out "I seem to know everything hidden by that mist, but I can't see, I can't see. What is this thing that has happened to me?" "You know your name?" "Yes, my name is Berselius, just as your name is Adams. My mind is clear, my memory is clear, but I have lost the sight of memory. Beyond the camp fire of last night, everything is a thick mist I am afraid!"
He's a dozen times more human and like other men. Wonder how long it will last. Just as long as he's feeling sick, I expect." He rose to fetch his pipe when Berselius, who had finished eating and had also risen to his feet, beckoned him to come close. "That is the road we came by?" said Berselius, pointing over the country toward the west. "Yes," said Adams, "that is the road."
"Operate." "You know, in every operation, however slight, there is an element of danger to life." "Life! what do I care? I insist on your operating. Not another night shall pass " "As you will," said Thénard. "And now," said Berselius, "make your preparations, and send me my secretary."
Beyond a certain point Berselius had lost the sight of memory, In other words, he had lost his past. Adams, wearied to death with the events of the past day and night, slept by the camp fire the deep dreamless sleep of utter exhaustion.
The loveliness of the place had not lessened since Adams had seen it last; even the breeze that was blowing to-day did not disturb the spirit of sweet and profound peace which held in a charm this lost garden of the wilderness; the palms bent as if in sleep, the water dimpled to the breeze and seemed to smile, a flamingo, with rose-coloured wings, passed and flew before them and vanished beyond the rocking tops of the trees that still sheltered the camping place where once Berselius had raised his tent.
He was quite big enough to have smashed the whole infernal machinery then and there. America had not yet, hoodwinked, signed the licence to kill, which she handed to Leopold on the 22d of April, 1884. Germany had not been roped in. England and France were still aloof, and Berselius, arriving at the psychological moment, did not mince matters.
The books on philosophy, natural history, oceanography, and history, in their narrow cases contrasted strangely with the weapons of destruction and the relics of the wild. The room was like a mirror of the mind of Berselius, that strange mind in which the savage dwelt with the civilized man, and the man of valour by the side of the philosopher.
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