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The Blemyens have no head: their faces are placed on their chests; the Satyrs have nothing like men except faces. The Egipans are made as is commonly described. ... Satyrs, Egipans ... isn't it very strange to find Greek names given to the barbarian spirits of this region? Believe me, we are on a curious trail; I am sure that Antinea will be our key to remarkable discoveries."
"Since Morhange abandoned you, since the day when you saw Antinea, you have had only one idea. What good is it to beguile yourself with the stories of Tanit-Zerga, charming as they are? Oh, you know that mysterious things are going to happen tonight. How have you been able to keep from doing anything as long as this?" Immediately I made a resolve.
"Mademoiselle Tanit-Zerga, of Gâo, on the Niger. Her family is almost as ancient as mine." As she spoke, she looked at me. Her green eyes seemed to be appraising me. "And your comrade, the Captain?" she asked in a dreamy tone. "I have not yet seen him. What is he like? Does he resemble you?" For the first time since I had entered, I thought of Morhange. I did not answer. Antinea smiled.
"I never smoke," he explained. "But Antinea sometimes comes here. These are her cigarettes. Help yourselves, gentlemen." I have always had a horror of that pale tobacco which gives a barber of the Rue de la Michodière the illusion of oriental voluptuousness. But, in their way, these musk-scented cigarettes were not bad, and it was a long time since I had used up my stock of Caporal.
It was the barber, and a remarkably dexterous one. He quickly trimmed my hair, and, on my word, it was well done. Then, without asking me what style I preferred, he shaved me clean. I looked with pleasure at my face, once more visible. "Antinea must like the American type," I thought. "What an affront to the memory of her worthy grandfather, Neptune!"
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.
You do not know. You have not seen Antinea. Let me tell you one thing: that among those" and with a sweeping gesture he indicated the silent circle of statues "there were men as courageous as you and perhaps less excitable. I remember one of them especially well, a phlegmatic Englishman who now is resting under Number 32. When he first appeared before Antinea, he was smoking a cigar.
"Antinea ... At last ... Antinea. But not cut in the rock ... the marks traced in ochre ... not ten years old, perhaps not five.... Oh!...." He pressed his hands to his head. Again he cried out: "It is a mystery. A tragic mystery." I laughed teasingly. "Come on, come on. Don't get excited over it." He took me by the arm and shook me. I saw his eyes big with terror and astonishment.
He did not believe that love of Antinea could make him forget all else that life contained. He tried to escape, and he succeeded. I do not know how, for I did not help him. He went back to his country.
The Targa slave stood rigid before her, one hand on his heart, the other on his forehead, saluting. Antinea spoke in a hard voice, without looking at the man. "Why did you let the leopard pass? I told you that I wanted to be alone." "He knocked us over, mistress," said the Targa humbly. "The doors were not closed, then?" The slave did not answer. "Shall I take him away?" he asked.
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