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Updated: May 4, 2025
"You lose all sense of direction in this labyrinth," I muttered to Morhange. "Worse still, you will lose your head," answered my companion sotto voce. "This old fool is certainly very learned; but God knows what he is driving at. However, he has promised that we are soon to know." M. Le Mesge had stopped before a heavy dark door, all incrusted with strange symbols.
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.
"Exactly," said M. Le Mesge again. "That Spaniard was one of the best educated. I used to have interesting discussions with him on the exact geographical position of the kingdom of Antée." "Number 49," said Morhange in a tone scarcely more than a whisper. "Lieutenant Woodhouse, born at Liverpool, September 16, 1870. Died at Ahaggar, October 4, 1895." "Hardly more than a child," said M. Le Mesge.
Two of them were carrying a long package on their shoulders; the third seemed to be their chief. At a sign from him, they placed the package on the ground and drew out from one of the niches the case which it contained. "You may approach, gentlemen," said M. Le Mesge. He motioned the three Tuareg to withdraw several paces.
I emptied the goblet at a gulp. The company began to seem charming. "Well, Captain Morhange," Le Mesge called out to my comrade who had taken a mouthful of fish, "what do you say to this acanthopterygian? It was caught to-day in the lake in the oasis. Do you begin to admit the hypothesis of the Saharan sea?" "The fish is an argument," my companion replied. Suddenly he became silent.
"I tried the most subtle reasoning on Antinea," he continued. "It was breath wasted. 'But, I said at the end of my arguments, 'why not Le Mesge? She began to laugh. 'Why not the Reverend Spardek? she replied. 'Le Mesge and Spardek are savants whom I respect. But
"Villefranche, Rhône. What date?" "The fourteenth of October, 1859." "The fourteenth of October, 1859. Good. Died at Ahaggar, the fifth of January, 1897.... There, that is done. A thousand thanks, sir, for your kindness." "You are welcome." I left M. Le Mesge. My mind, thenceforth, was well made up; and, as I said, I was perfectly calm.
For a long, long time he gazed at the sad bronze statue. "A mummy, a mummy?" he said finally. "You deceive yourself, sir, this is no mummy." "Accurately speaking, no," replied M. Le Mesge. "This is not a mummy. None the less, you have before you the mortal remains of Sir Archibald Russell.
"'Family, honor, country, said old Le Mesge, 'you will forget all for her. Old Le Mesge is a stupid man, but he speaks from experience. He knows, he who has seen broken before Antinea the wills of the fifty ghosts in the red marble hall. "And now, will you, in your turn, ask me 'What is this woman? Do I know myself? And besides, what difference does it make?
"'Besides, she added with that really very charming smile of hers, 'probably you have not looked carefully at either of them. There followed several compliments on my figure, to which I found nothing to reply, so completely had she disarmed me by those four lines from Baudelaire. "She condescended to explain further: 'Le Mesge is a learned gentleman whom I find useful.
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