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Updated: June 10, 2025
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.
"This book," M. Le Mesge replied very slowly, weighing his words, with an extraordinary expression of triumph, "is the greatest, the most beautiful, the most secret, of the dialogues of Plato; it is the Critias of Atlantis." "The Critias? But it is unfinished," murmured Morhange. "It is unfinished in France, in Europe, everywhere else," said M. Le Mesge, "but it is finished here.
"Do you know that?" Morhange asked him with keen curiosity. The Targa did not speak a word but his eyes had a strange light. "Do you know that?" insisted Morhange. And he added: "Antinea?" "Antinea," repeated the man. And he was silent. "Why don't you answer the Captain?" I called out, with a strange feeling of rage sweeping over me. The Targui looked at me. I thought that he was going to speak.
"Less than ever," I answered, a little put out; "a,n,t,i,n,h,a, Antinha, I don't know that word, or anything like it, in all the Saharan dialects I am familiar with." Morhange rubbed his hands together. His satisfaction was without bounds. "You have said it. That is why the discovery is unique." "Why?" "There is really nothing, either in Berber or in Arabian, analogous to this word." "Then?"
Then an idea came to me: "At this very moment, Morhange.... Whatever he may say.... She is so beautiful." I reached out for the glass and emptied it once more. Little by little, the Hetman began to show that ascendancy over them, which is the characteristic of a man of the world even when he is thoroughly drunk; the superiority of education over instruction.
When the surface showed nothing more than a little mound of trampled sand, I rose staggering and started off aimlessly into the desert, toward the south. At the foot of the valley of the Mia, at the place where the jackal had cried the night Saint-Avit told me he had killed Morhange, another jackal, or perhaps the same one, howled again.
Because of the impossibility of collecting them, they prefer to smother what could only become a silly scandal. But now you know all the details as well as I." "And she?" I asked timidly. He smiled triumphantly. It was triumph at having led me to think no longer of Morhange, or of his crime, the triumph of feeling that he had succeeded in imbuing me with his own madness. "Yes," he said. "She!
I understood that this smile meant: "Can he be less obtuse than I had supposed?" As if with a mighty effort, Morhange broke the silence. "I understand well enough, I understand.... The three girdles of water.... But then, you are supposing, sir, an explanation the ingeniousness of which I do not contest you are supposing the exact hypothesis of the Saharan sea!"
"That was rather my view of it," I said, "But I must admit my astonishment to find that, with such a sceptical opinion of the goal, you still do not hesitate to take risks which may be quite considerable." Morhange smiled wanly. "I do not interpret, my friend; I collect. From what I will take back to him, Dom Granger has the ability to draw conclusions which are beyond my slight knowledge.
When I told them of my adventures, as they are related in the report of the Morhange Saint-Avit Expedition, I could see well enough from the cold politeness with which they received my explanations, that the official version which I gave them differed at certain points from the fragments which had escaped me in my delirium. "They did not press the matter.
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