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Updated: June 10, 2025
But this peculiarity does not diminish the interest of the coincidence: it increases it." "What do you take to be the meaning of this word?" "Antinea can only be a proper name," said Morhange. "To whom does it refer? I admit I don't know, and if at this very moment I am marching toward the south, dragging you along with me, it is because I count on learning more about it. Its etymology?
"What do I intend to do?" Morhange leaned back in the armchair and smilingly launched a puff of smoke toward the ceiling. "Nothing," he said. "And that is all that is necessary. Man has this superiority over woman. He is so constructed that he can refuse advances." Then he added with an ironical smile: "A man cannot be forced to accept unless he wishes to." I nodded.
That red mark on my forefinger shows how he strained at the leash. My knees are still dusty. I remember creeping along the wall in the room where the white Tuareg were playing at dice. That was the minute after King Hiram had leapt past them. After that ... oh, Morhange and Antinea.... And then?" I recalled nothing more. I recalled nothing more.
"I do not know," Morhange finally managed to say, "whether or not we shall regret some day our little excursion into Ahaggar. But admit, in the meantime, that it promises to be rich in unexpected adventures.
But I did not yet know Morhange very well, and it is true that until the evening of the next day when we reached El-Biodh, refusing our offers with smiling determination, he drank nothing. Shades of St. Francis of Assisi! Umbrian hills, so pure under the rising sun!
I could feel the clothes that had a moment before been drenching, drying upon me incredibly fast. A hand was placed on my shoulder. Morhange was again beside me. "Come here," he said. Somewhat surprised, I followed him. We went into the grotto. The opening, which was big enough to admit the camels, made it fairly light. Morhange led me up to the smooth face of rock opposite.
"It was Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh," repeated the Targa with imperturbable calm. "Captain Masson and Colonel Flatters had left the convoy to look for the well," said Morhange, laughing. "It was then that the Tuareg attacked them," I finished, laughing as hard as I could. "A Targa of Ahagga seized the bridle of Captain Masson's horse," said Morhange.
"With an initial, 'M. As if made on purpose. M.... Captain Morhange." "Masson," corrected Eg-Anteouen quietly. "Captain Masson," I repeated in concert with Morhange. We laughed again. "Ha! Ha! Ha! Captain Masson.... Colonel Flatters.... The well of Garama. They killed him to take his pipe ... that pipe. It was Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh who killed Captain Masson."
"You surely can't have any trouble with him. It is only up to you to see that later on he doesn't get all the glory." "We aren't working with the same end in view," I answered evasively. I was thoughtful, only thoughtful I give you my word. From that moment I harbored no further grudge against Morhange. Yet my silence persuaded him that I was unforgiving.
Morhange does not deign to come among us any more. We never see Morhange. "My fever for information found a little more favorable reception from Rosita, the old Negress manicure. Never have I had my nails polished so often as during those days of waiting! Now after six years she must be dead. I shall not wrong her memory by recording that she was very partial to the bottle.
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