MM. Desrioux and de Pommerelle, whilst contemplating the field of
battle, were rejoined by their escort, who, on reaching the place
where the mine had exploded and left a free passage, were overcome
with admiration, and attempted to worship the two white men, before
whom even the mountains opened. But the Count and the doctor made
short work of this intended adoration. They calmed the enthusiasm of
the Beluchs, and ordered them to fall in two by two and follow them.
It was a curious spectacle to behold this long file of men in their
strange, gaudy-coloured dress, resting on their lances, and slowly
descending, step by step, the species of aërial way lying open before
them.
MM. de Morin, Delange and Périères, in their turn, followed by a few
servants and soldiers, advanced to meet the new arrivals. Miss Poles
was not in a position to accompany them, being engaged in effecting
some necessary repairs to her toilet, which had suffered considerable
damage in a desperate struggle against three amazons, to whom she had
given the _coup de grâce_ with her revolver. Gratitude impelled her
to welcome her deliverers, but coquetry withheld her from appearing
before strangers, Europeans, fellow-countrymen, perhaps, with her
dress in tatters, her sleeves tucked up to her shoulders, her hair
dishevelled, her face as red as the middle of the fire, and her
spectacles anyhow. When M. Delange endeavoured to induce her to
accompany them, she replied—
"No, I do not care about presenting myself before these gentlemen
just now; I am not looking my best."
Nobody dreamt of asking Madame de Guéran to go and meet the newly-arrived
caravan. She was on her knees beside her husband, who was
dangerously wounded and, perhaps, dying. Her eyes were fixed on him,
and she appeared wholly absorbed in the contemplation of the face
which she had known in all the glory of youth and manly beauty, and
now again beheld worn by suffering and fatigue.
Ah! why had he left her for so long! What grief had he not caused
her! To what dangers of every kind had he not exposed her! And now
she had found him only to lose him very soon, for he could not
recover from the wounds inflicted by that woman!
But why had Walinda been so furious against him? Why, instead of
hurling herself upon her enemies, had she chosen to attack her
prisoner and her guest so unmercifully?
She was there, close to her, only a few yards off, that terrible
Queen, that Venus in ebony, as Dr. Delange called her. After having
literally torn her away from the body she was holding in so deadly an
embrace, Nassar, assisted by some Dinkas, had stripped her of her
fatal bracelets and necklets, had bound her legs with cords, tied her
arms down to her sides, and thrown her at full length on the ground.
If Walinda was powerless to strike, she took account of everything
that was going on around her. Lying on her back, stark naked, but, at
the same time, partly hidden by the grass which had opened out to
receive her, and now enclosed her, she never took her eyes off the
victim rescued from her clutches, the prey snatched from her, and she
cast glances of furious hatred on the wounded man and the woman
kneeling by his side.
By-and-by, Madame de Guéran crept closer to her husband, and took one
of his hands in hers. The Queen's look at once became more ferocious
still, her nostrils dilated, her lips half opened, and a shudder went
through her body, motionless up to this time. She made frantic
efforts to burst her bonds, without success, but by dint of great
exertion, she managed to turn over and lie with her face downwards.
Then, by bending her knees, resting first on one shoulder and then on
the other, dragging her chest along the grass, and pushing herself by
means of the ground, she managed to get close to the spot where M.
and Madame de Guéran were. She stopped every time the grass around
her rustled, and held her breath lest she should attract the
attention of her enemies.
As soon as she was close to them, she shut her hands, of which she
had the use, buried her fists in the sand, and, having thus secured a
support, she was able to lift her head and chest to the level of the
grass. There she remained motionless and silent, brooding, so to
speak, over her enemies, with parted lips, ready, like a viper, to
spit out her venom.
Madame de Guéran did not see her. Absorbed in her own thoughts, she
heard nothing, saw nothing. She was scarcely conscious of what had
passed since the moment when her husband had so suddenly appeared
before her. He was brandishing an axe, and fighting valiantly when
one of those terrible amazons fell upon him, overthrew him, and
wounded him mortally. Simultaneously with this, shouts of terror had
reached her ears, the camp was invaded—then came a terrific
explosion, followed, first of all, by renewed din, and, then, by
absolute silence. She did not make any attempt to recall what had
happened. What did it matter to her? After so much exertion, she had
only found an inanimate being, a dying man. She was overwhelmed by
her grief and her reflections, too.
However, as she had no more water wherewith to refresh the wounded
man's lips and forehead, she turned round to ask for some. At that
moment she perceived in the grass, close to her, the Queen of the
Walindis, covered with M. de Guéran's blood.
She did not turn away in disgust; on the contrary, she surprised
herself in the act of contemplating this woman, who had for so long a
time kept her husband a prisoner.
The features of the Queen, notwithstanding their cruel expression,
were charming; her eyes full of determination; her lips full, bright
red, and voluptuous to a degree; her shoulders, her limbs, and such
parts of her body as could be distinguished from amidst the dust and
blood covering it, were superbly moulded, splendidly formed.
As she looked at Walinda, she glanced, too, at M. de Guéran, and
strange thoughts passed through her mind, and darkened her brow.
At length, she got up, and, as the serpent lying at her feet made
another effort to get near her, to bite her, perhaps, she pushed her
away with her foot contemptuously, but without any appearance of
anger. At the same time, Nassar, not finding his prisoner at the
place where he had left her, followed the track made by her body in
the grass, came up to her, and, taking hold of the cords round her
with both hands, lifted her up, and threw her farther away.
This short incident recalled Madame de Guéran back to reality; she
looked round her, and was amazed to find that her friends and
servants were no longer in sight. What had become of them? Presently
she saw them approaching from the direction of the mountain. Were
they going to fight again? What heaps of dead and dying were lying
around them! Was it not high time to put an end to this carnage? No,
they were not making ready to fight; they were waving their arms in
the air, and making signs to somebody with their hands.
Who were they saluting after this fashion? She raised her eyes, and
saw another body of men descending from the mountains by a road which
she did not remember having seen in the morning.
At the head of the new-comers, marched a man dressed after the
European fashion, of medium height and elegant figure. His hair,
somewhat long, and his light beard looked like threads of gold in the
brilliant sunlight. The black peak of his grey cap threw a shade over
his wide forehead, straight nose, smiling lips, and large blue eyes
with long eyelashes—a grand head, at once energetic and sweet.
He walked slowly, supporting himself by a lance, but with upright
body, and apparent unconsciousness of the difficulties of the road.
He took no notice either of the escort behind him, or that coming to
meet him; he might be said to be making directly for Madame de
Guéran, without seeing what was going on around him, with his eyes
fixed on her alone.
Suddenly, she uttered a cry; she had just recognized him. She had
recognized him first of all, from where she was, without stirring a
step, even sooner than his best friends, who were almost touching
him. It was he! It was he! He had overtaken her; he had found her in
the desert, amidst chaos!
At first, when she recognized him, she felt as if she was going to
faint and sink down to the ground. But she soon recovered herself,
and an irresistible impulse appeared to attract her towards him who
was drawing nearer and nearer, with his eyes fixed upon her.
She made two or three steps mechanically, and then stopped abruptly.
All the blood, rushing from her heart, mounted into her cheeks; she
raised her arms, covered her face with her hands, and, turning back,
ran and knelt once more by the side of M. de Guéran, taking hold of
his hands and kissing his forehead, as if she were imploring pardon
and placing herself under the protection of her husband.
MM. Desrioux and Pommerelle had reached the base of the rock; a yard
only separated them from the plain; they leaped down and fell into
the arms of their friends, who had at last recognized them.
They looked at each other, shook hands, and embraced, too much moved
to ask for either explanations or news, or to express either
astonishment, curiosity, or gratitude.
The Beluchs and _pagazis_ of Zanzibar at the same time fraternized
with the Nubians, Soudan men, and Dinkas. They did not know each
other, nor had they ever had an idea even of each other's existence;
but they were birds of a feather all the same. They escorted
caravans, carried baggage, and, in short, were colleagues—quite
enough to justify the warmest embraces.
Whilst these pacific demonstrations were taking the place of the
terrible battle which had just been fought, M. Desrioux left his
friends, handed M. de Pommerelle over to them, and went alone towards
Madame de Guéran.
She heard him coming, turned round and went a few steps to meet him,
by this time calm, brave, quiet and self-possessed.
When he reached her and was looking at her without being able to say
a word, she held out her hands and let them rest for a moment in his
frankly, as a sister might do, in sight of all.
This affectionate reception enabled him to recover himself, and,
presently he said in a low, sad tone—
"My mother died in my arms; she no longer needed me, and so—I am come
to you."
"You have done well," she replied. "We will mourn your dear mother
together."
After a short interval of silence she resumed—
"Did you, before you started, receive my last letter, dated from
Khartoum, in which I spoke of M. de Guéran?"
"No," said he, surprised. "What did you tell me about him?"
"I told you," she replied tremblingly, "that, according to the latest
information, my husband was still living, and that I had every reason
to hope that I should find him."
"Ah!" said he, paler than ever. "And have you found him?"
"Yes, but to lose him for ever, if you do not succeed in saving him."
"If he can be saved," he murmured, "I will save him!"