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Updated: May 4, 2025
"Not so loud, not so loud," said M. Le Mesge. "No one speaks out loud here." "The Major Russell," I repeated, obeying his injunction as if in spite of myself, "who left Khartoum last year, to explore Sokoto?" "The same," replied the Professor. "And ... where is Major Russell?" "He is there," replied M. Le Mesge. The Professor made a gesture. The Tuareg approached.
"Here are the back numbers of Le Vie Parisienne" said M. Le Mesge to me. "Amuse yourself with them, if you like, while I talk to your friend." "Sir," I replied brusquely, "it is true that I never studied with Berlioux. Nevertheless, you must allow me to listen to your conversation: I shall hope to find something in it to amuse me." "As you wish," said the little old man.
To cut the pages, I had used the knife with which M. Le Mesge had cut the cords of the bale, a short ebony-handled dagger, one of those daggers that the Tuareg wear in a bracelet sheath against the upper left arm. I slipped it into the big pocket of my flannel dolman and walked toward the door. I was about to cross the threshold when I heard M. Le Mesge call me. "Monsieur de Saint Avit!
"I am coming, I am coming. Say, Ferradji, that we will be there in a moment. Why, sir, if I had foreseen ... It is extraordinary ... to find an officer who knows Procles of Carthage and Arbois de Jubainville. Again ... But I must introduce myself. I am Etienne Le Mesge, Fellow of the University." "Captain Morhange," said my companion. I stepped forward in my turn. "Lieutenant de Saint-Avit.
"'Of what did he die? "She used the same phrase as M. Le Mesge: "'Like all the others: of love. "'Of love, she continued. "They all die of love when they see that their time is ended, and that Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh has gone to find others. Several have died quietly with tears in their great eyes. They neither ate nor slept any more. A French naval officer went mad.
The sight of it filled me with childish satisfaction. M. Le Mesge stepped forward and introduced us to the two persons who already had taken their places on the mat. "Mr. Spardek," he said; and by that simple phrase I understood how far our host placed himself above vain human titles. The Reverend Mr.
"Gentlemen," repeated M. Le Mesge in his dry tone. We followed him. When the three of us were back again in the library, he said, addressing me: "You, sir, asked a little while ago what occult power holds you here.
Your manner was threatening, and I should have refused to comply had it not been for your friend, whose knowledge enables him to appreciate better than you the value of the revelations I am about to make to you." He touched a spring in the side of the wall. A cupboard appeared, stuffed with books. He took one. "You are both of you," continued M. Le Mesge, "in the power of a woman.
I have cared for the hands and feet of all that he has brought here. All were young and handsome. But I think that your comrade, whom they brought to me the other day, after you were here, is the handsomest of all. "'Why, I asked, turning the conversation, 'why, since she spared them their lives, did she not free the pastor and M. Le Mesge?
"Because," replied the little man imperturbably, "this book is her patent of nobility, her Almanach de Gotha, in a sense, do you understand? Because it established her prodigious genealogy: because she is...." "Because she is?" repeated Morhange. "Because she is the grand daughter of Neptune, the last descendant of the Atlantides." M. Le Mesge looked at Morhange triumphantly.
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