The ascent of the rock, that bond of union between the plain and the
mountain, was as easy as possible for the able-bodied men of the
expedition, bat the work of conveying the wounded up it was perilous
in the extreme. Every obstacle, however, was overcome, thanks to the
ropes in possession of the Desrioux caravan. These were tied one to
the other, and thus made a sort of railing, firmly fixed on the
plateau by the first arrivals there, and descending along the whole
length of the granite bridge right down to the plain. By the aid of
this support, M. de Guéran was carried in a hammock, borne on poles.
The use of her legs was restored to Queen Walinda, by order of M.
Delange, who was answerable for her, and four Nubians, strictly
enjoined to watch her narrowly, made her walk in front of them.
Contrary to the expectation of everybody, she did not make the
slightest resistance, but scaled the rock deliberately, without a
murmur or even turning her head, just as if she were leaving her
dominions of her own free will. When she reached the plateau, she did
not even glance back at the land of which, that very morning, she had
been the sovereign. She appeared to have no eyes except for her
former prisoner and for Madame de Guéran, who walked at his side.
The caravan by degrees wound along the defile traversed on the
previous evening by MM. Desrioux and de Pommerelle. The Beluchs, who
knew the road, formed the vanguard; then came the wounded, escorted
by Drs. Desrioux and Delange, ever ready to aid them, and followed by
the women and the bearers. The Nubians and Dinkas, commanded by
Nassar and the Arab interpreters, brought up the rear.
Before joining the ranks, the Europeans acted on the hint given by M.
Périères. Some soldiers, provided with lances to be used as levers,
lifted the part of the rock which rested against the mountain, and by
a resolute and united effort rolled the block of stone over on to the
plain.
The amazons, however, did not seem disposed to follow up the
Europeans and rescue their Queen; their whole attention was given to
escaping from the Monbuttoos, who in the last hour or so had made
themselves masters of the country. These people made a terrible use
of the victory they had not gained, setting fire to all the villages
and huts, dancing and frisking around the bonfires, and going into
mourning for their King in the gayest fashion.
The Europeans, after having cast a sorrowful look over the field of
carnage, and said a last adieu to the vast regions they had just
traversed, followed the caravan. M. de Pommerelle walked beside his
two friends, de Morin and Périères, and gave them—for up to this
moment they had not had any opportunity for chatting—the latest news
from Paris. This news was rather stale, eight months old in fact,
seeing that the Count and the doctor had left France in the month of
March, but they were none the less welcome to his hearers, exiles
since October, 1872. M. de Pommerelle also told them how, in reading
their letters, following them on the map, and trying to live their
life, he had felt himself gradually acquiring a taste for far-off
adventures. These and other confidential communications were
interrupted by Miss Poles, who had left her place, allowed the
caravan to defile before her, and now joined the Count de Pommerelle,
that very attractive man, as she had just confided to Dr. Delange.
Left to themselves, MM. de Morin and Périères lighted a couple of
those excellent cigars of which they had been so long deprived, a
gift from M. de Pommerelle. After a few moments' silent enjoyment of
these luxuries, they looked at each other, and the painter, said to
the man of letters—
"Well, we have found him at last!"
"Yes, we have found him," replied M. Périères. "And, moreover, we may
safely say that for a year past we have not left a stone unturned in
that direction."
"With a chivalrous disinterestedness," added M. de Morin, "worthy a
place in the records of practical morality."
"We shall figure in them one of these days, I dare say, my dear
fellow; that is one consolation."
"But we have another."
"What is that?"
"We might have found him strong, well-to-do, and in perfect health,
which would, I admit, have been all very well for him, but rather
disagreeable for us. On the contrary he is in a deplorable state,
and, to speak frankly, our jealousy has no longer any _locus
standi_."
"Our execution is only postponed," observed M. de Morin. "We have
been told that none of his wounds are serious, and that the fever
will leave him when he reaches the high ground. In a few days
perhaps—"
"In a few days, my dear de Morin," added Périères, "the husband will
doubtless be cured, but the wife will not."
"What do you mean?"
"My meaning is simple enough. To-day Madame de Guéran only beholds in
her husband a wounded man, an invalid, almost at death's-door, whom
it is her mission to recall to life. As soon as his health shall have
been re-established, the husband will re-appear, and the sister of
charity, a wife once more, will call him to account somewhat
severely. She was only too ready to forget the errors, to use a mild
word, of M. de Guéran, so long as she believed him dead or in
captivity; she will remember them on the day of his restoration to
life and health. She cannot conceal from herself that he left her
very cavalierly, at the end of two years only of married life, to run
about the world, and she already looks upon herself as having been
rather a fool, believe me, for having taken so much trouble and
encountered so many dangers to regain possession of an eccentric and
fickle husband. Up to this time she has been fulfilling a duty, and
she sees nothing but the heroism of her action. The heroism
disappears with the fulfilment of the duty, and then the minor points
of the subject will come to the surface.
"If she had found him still in the power of some terrible African
potentate, reduced to slavery and more or less in durance vile, she
would have been satisfied. But she surprised him in the midst of a
tribe of very attractive women, or very uncommon, as you will admits
One of them, their Queen by right both of birth and beauty, appears
to love him to the verge of criminality. For fear he should escape
her, she throws herself upon him, tears him in pieces like a wild
beast, and if she does not kill him it is only because she is robbed
of her prey. Madame de Guéran is fully alive to these—petty details,
shall we call them? She is very keen, and nothing escapes her. She
has divined what she has not seen, and she admits, as we do, that the
Baron, to have inspired so sanguinary a passion, must for his part
have afforded some grounds for it.
"She does not look upon him as criminal; so much I will concede. She
is far too intelligent not to understand the difficulties of the
situation, and the necessities of slavery; but she will for a long,
long time, perhaps for ever, resent his having placed himself in such
a position. There was nothing to compel him to leave Paris and expose
himself to all these adventures. 'He ought not to have been, and
gone, and done it,' she will say to herself, if she is aware of that
vulgar phrase. We must also make due allowance for womanly pride, and
the peculiar delicacy of Madame de Guéran. She cannot feel flattered
at being the successor of a native of equatorial Africa. Rest assured
that the recollection of this female savage will haunt her throughout
the remainder of her life, and will be a perpetual moral shower bath.
Queen Walinda is lovely in our eyes, and especially so in those of
the susceptible Dr. Delange, but, as a woman, she does not exist, so
far as Madame de Guéran is concerned. She is a being of some sort, a
fine animal of the ape tribe, overlooked by naturalists in their
classifications, and the Baroness will ever experience a feeling of
repulsion towards the man who for six months took up his abode in the
den of this semi-wild animal.
"I bring my long harangue to a close, my dear fellow, with these
words. On the score of health M. de Guéran is not now formidable, and
he will never be so for the simple reason that his wife is
disillusionized."
"He is none the less her husband," observed M. de Morin. "He has been
found, he lives, and his widow, whom we wished to marry, is out of
our reach. But you are not so calm as you would have me believe.
Whilst I was giving way to-day to my bad temper, you remained quiet
and all smiles, but you did not suffer any the less. Come, make a
clean breast of it."
"I admit it," exclaimed M. Périères. "I feel precisely as you do. I
suffer, and I am jealous, not of the husband, rescued by us this
morning on the plain, but of the rival who fell upon us from the top
of the mountain. He is about to benefit by the state of mind and
heart in which he finds the Baroness, and which I have just
explained. He will benefit also by the rivalry of both of us, by that
equality between us which has allowed Madame de Guéran to remain
undecided and wavering, and by the love we have displayed for her, a
love which has not roused any corresponding feeling in her heart, but
has nevertheless prepared it for the reception of somebody else.
"Finally, rely upon it, he will benefit by the unexpected fashion of
his appearance amongst us. The imagination of women is always taken
by the marvellous, especially when it does not come to pass by
design, when he who appears surrounded by fireworks has not
consciously produced the illumination, and especially when he is as
modest as he is brilliant. For I will do Desrioux justice, it was not
his fault that he did not arrive by rail with his carpet bag in his
hand. If he blew up the mountain, it was simply because he was
without the means of scaling it; if he appeared to me in a cloud,
duly furnished with wings, it was merely because chance, that great
scene-painter, was pleased on this occasion to furnish a fairy-like
tableau. Madame de Guéran was none the less moved by the explosion
and its attendant apotheosis; even we were surprised into admiration.
In a word, my dear fellow, and to make a long story short—we have
been pulling the chestnuts out of the fire for the past year, and now
Desrioux is going to eat them."
"You take it very smilingly, at all events."
"I laugh to keep myself from crying."
"And you accept the situation?"
"Just as you will have to accept it. What can we do? Any display of
jealousy would be out of place and futile. Shall we quarrel with
Desrioux? Have we dared to quarrel with each other? No, we recoiled
from such an act of injustice, and we shall recoil again. Moreover,
as I have already said, Desrioux, thanks to his _coup de theâtre_,
has saved our lives, and people as a rule do not fall foul of their
saviours. Reflection must show us that we have only one thing to do—
to get back to Paris as soon as possible, and console ourselves as
best we may, and if we can."
Just as this conversation came to an end, the caravan emerged from
the defile through which it had been wending its way. After a day so
full of incident the moment for well-earned repose had arrived. Tents
were pitched for the Europeans on a plateau of some extent, whilst
the people of Khartoum and Zanzibar sought a sleeping place in the
clefts of the mountain, or lay down on the rocks, huddling close
together to keep out the cold. The centigrade thermometers registered
eighteen degrees, but the natives of central and southern Africa
shiver in anything under twenty. This lowering of the temperature was
on the contrary beneficial to M. de Guéran, and Dr. Desrioux, before
quitting his patient, ascertained that the fever had decreased
sensibly.
The camp was soon buried in repose—Venus in ebony alone, with her
large eyes wide open, looked fixedly at the tent wherein reposed her
former prisoner.