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Updated: May 13, 2025
"All this is beginning to seem very strange," said Morhange, coming over to me. "You can say that without exaggeration," I replied. "You remember as well as I the passage in which Barth tells of his expedition to the Idinen, the Mountain of the Evil Spirits of the Azdjer Tuareg. The region had so evil a reputation that no Targa would go with him. But he got back."
I was horrified at this logical reply. "Perhaps I am doing wrong," the Targa went on, "in not killing the little one.... But she loves you. She will not talk. Now go. Day is coming." I tried to press the hand of this strange rescuer, but he again drew back. "Do not thank me. What I am doing, I do to acquire merit in the eyes of God.
"Wait, you beast," called Bielowsky. "Don't you see that the glasses are empty? Here, Cacambo." The goblets were filled immediately by the jolly masseur. "Cut," said Koukou, addressing Sydya, the beautiful Targa who sat at his right. The girl cut, like one who knows superstitions, with her left hand. But it must be said that her right was busy lifting a cup to her lips.
When Antinea gave little Kaine his dismissal, smiling as she always does, he stopped in front of her, mute, very pale. She struck the gong for someone to take him away. A Targa slave came. But little Kaine had leapt for the hammer, and the Targa lay on the ground with his skull smashed. Antinea smiled all the time. They led little Kaine to his room.
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!"
As he did so Vere came out of the house, her hands full of Khali Targa cigarettes, her face eager at the thought of giving pleasure to Ruffo. "This is my daughter, Vere," Hermione said. "Vere, this is the Marchese Isidoro Panacci, a friend of Monsieur Emile's." The Marchesino went to kiss Vere's hand, but she said: "I'm very sorry look!"
"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.
"Yes, he asked to see his companion, the other officer." Antinea tapped the little tray still more rapidly. "Did he say nothing else?" "No, mistress," said the man. A pallor overspread the Atlantide's little forehead. "Go get him," she said brusquely. Bowing, the Targa left the room. I listened to this dialogue with great anxiety. Was this Morhange? Had he been faithful to me, after all?
"You did not mention that detail to us." "Why should I? The Tuareg are afraid of the ilhinen, spirits with horns and tails, covered with hair, who make the cattle sicken and die and cast spells over men. But I know well that the Christians are not afraid and even laugh at the fears of the Tuareg." "And you?" I asked. "You are a Targa and you are not afraid of the ilhinen?"
Herodotus says also that the Garamentes used to go out in their chariots to hunt the cave-dwelling Ethopians. But here we are in Ahaggar, in the midst of the Targa country, and the best authorities tell us that the Tuareg never have been willing to live in caves. Duveyrier is precise on that point.
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