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They brought a smile to Antinea's lips. She gave me a long, quiet look. "Aguida," she said to one of the Targa women, "you will give twenty-five pounds in gold to Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh." "You are a lieutenant?" she asked, after a pause. "Yes." "Where do you come from?" "From France." "I might have guessed that," she said ironically, "but from what part of France?"
Clouds of odors whirl about me. Suddenly it seems as if the golden lanterns are waving from the ceiling like giant censers. Is this my voice, the voice repeating in a dream: "Ask me what you will, and I will do it. I will do it." Antinea's face is almost touching mine. A strange light flickers in her great eyes. Beyond, I see the gleaming eyes of King Hiram.
The serenity of Morhange's face was so powerful that I scarcely noticed his opponent. In that transfigured countenance, no trace of worldliness remained. "A last time," came Antinea's voice, almost breaking. Morhange was not even looking at her. "As you will," she said. Her gong resounded. She had struck the silver disc. The white Targa appeared. "Leave the room!"
Had I suspected him unjustly? He had wanted to see me and been unable to! My eyes never left Antinea's. She was no longer the haughty, mocking princess of our first interview. She no longer wore the golden circlet on her forehead. Not a bracelet, not a ring. She was dressed only in a full flowing tunic. Her black hair, unbound, lay in masses of ebony over her slight shoulders and her bare arms.
I recognized acquaintances among those present; my masseur, the manicure, the barber, and two or three Tuareg who had lowered their veils and were gravely smoking long pipes. While waiting for something better, all were plunged in the delights of a card game that looked like "rams." Two of Antinea's beautiful ladies in waiting, Aguida and Sydya, were among the number.
All, or almost all, are accompanied by this legend: Antinea. Here commences her domain. I myself have had repainted with ochre such as were beginning to be effaced. But, to return to what I was telling you before, none of the Europeans who have followed this epigraphic mystery here, have kept their anxiety to solve this etymology once they found themselves in Antinea's palace.
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."
Morhange smiled gravely, but did not reply. I could read in Antinea's face the effort it cost her to continue smiling; I admired the self-control of these two beings. "I sent for you," she continued. "You do not guess why?... Well, it is to tell you something that you do not expect. It will be no surprise to you if I say that I never met a man like you.
Those who have penetrated into a Mussulman home know what a guignol is, a kind of square niche in the wall, four feet from the floor, its opening covered by a curtain. One mounts to it by wooden steps. I noticed such a guignol at my left. I crept into it. My pulses beat in the shadow. But I was calm, quite calm. There I could see and hear everything. I was in Antinea's chamber.
If I felt a vague uneasiness at not seeing him again, it was not because of a desire to know that he was well and safe. "Well and safe, I knew him to be, moreover. The Tuareg slaves of Antinea's household were certainly not very communicative. The women were hardly more loquacious.
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