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"By Ahaggar," he murmured. "But...." "But what?" "I do not know the road." "Eg-Anteouen is going to guide us." "Eg-Anteouen!" I watched Bou-Djema as he made this suppressed ejaculation. His eyes were fixed on the Targa with a mixture of stupor and fright. Eg-Anteouen's camel was a dozen yards ahead of us, side by side with Morhange's. The two men were talking.
His only response was a deep moan. Morhange and I leaped to our feet and ran to the guide. Eg-Anteouen reached him as soon as we did. With his eyes closed and his limbs already cold, the Chaamba breathed a death rattle in Morhange's arms. I had seized one of his hands. Eg-Anteouen took the other. Each, in his own way, was trying to divine, to understand.... Suddenly Eg-Anteouen leapt to his feet.
That is to say that it contains the same word twice, top to bottom, and right to left. This arrangement which is unique in Tifinar writing, is already remarkable enough. But there is better still. Now we will read it." Getting it wrong three times out of seven I finally succeeded, with Morhange's help, in spelling the word. "Have you got it?" asked Morhange when I had finished my task.
He must have been completely famished not to have performed this indispensable formality sooner. There was nothing visible now but the eyes, watching us with a light that grew steadily more sombre. "French officers," he murmured at last. And he took Morhange's hand, and having placed it against his breast, carried it to his lips. Suddenly an expression of anxiety passed over his face.
"Am I to conclude from all this that I do not know the real aims of your trip, and that they have nothing to do with the official motives?" I had gone a bit too far. I felt it from the seriousness with which Morhange's reply was delivered. "No, my dear friend, you must not conclude just that.
During your captivity, you have expressed only one wish. Do you recall it?" "I asked your permission to see my friend before I died," said Morhange simply. I do not know what stirred me more on hearing these words: delight at Morhange's formal tone in speaking to Antinea, or emotion at hearing the one wish he had expressed.
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!"
Morhange's words choked in his throat. A sharp, shrill voice pierced the immense room. "Gentlemen, I beg you, let my papers alone." I turned toward the newcomer. One of the Caramani curtains was drawn aside, and the most unexpected of persons came in. Resigned as we were to unexpected events, the improbability of this sight exceeded anything our imaginations could have devised.
From that time on, Eg-Anteouen was our master. We could only trust ourselves to him. He went first; Morhange followed him, and I brought up the rear. We passed at every step most curious specimens of volcanic rock. But I did not examine them. I was no longer interested in such things. Another kind of curiosity had taken possession of me. I had come to share Morhange's madness.
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