About five o'clock on the following morning, just as the caravan was
about to get under way, Nassar came up to MM. de Morin and Delange.
"The Queen," said he, "has not gone back to her country. By dint of
walking all night she has just overtaken us, and is hiding down below
there, behind a rock."
"Poor woman!" M. Delange could not help saying.
"You pity her?" said M. de Morin.
"Certainly, I pity her," and, he added in a lower tone, "I pity her
as one pities a faithful dog chased away by his master."
"You forget that this dog bit its master. It was not even content
with biting, but sprang upon him open-mouthed."
"Yes, but now that its rage and anger, both inspired by jealousy,
have passed away, the dog has repented, and returns with drooping
ears to its master's dwelling. It seeks him, moaning and whining,
fawns upon him, and refuses to be driven away. It will not bite him
again, you may be quite sure."
"I agree with you; but it will bite those who have replaced it in its
master's affections, and usurped its place by his fireside."
M. de Morin turned to Nassar, and said—
"This woman must be got rid of at all hazards. I do not want to see
her any more."
"How am I to carry out your orders?" replied Nassar. "When my men
threaten her with the butt ends of their lances she does not appear
to see them, and if they throw stones at her she does not seem to
feel them."
"I warned you," said Delange to M. de Morin. "The simplest plan after
all would have been to have kept her here in the midst of us, bound
hand and foot."
"No, it was not the simplest plan," replied M. de Morin, impatiently,
"and I have already told you why. This creature can no longer, with
any propriety, form part of Madame de Guéran's caravan. Look here!"
he added in an undertone, and rather unsteadily, "if I only were to
consult my own interest, I should take very good care that the
Baroness should always be seeing her. Her husband is rapidly
improving physically, and to get rid of him morally would be quite
fair, in which case Walinda would be of considerable use to me. But
neither Périères nor I, as you may well understand, would ever dream
of having recourse to such means; we despise such weapons, and, once
for all, I will not allow our Sultana to run the risk of setting eyes
on your Venus in ebony."
"Have her put to death then."
"I shall very possibly have to do that in order to prevent her
killing others; but, for mercy's sake, do not drive me to that
extremity. Find some means of getting rid of this woman. I assure you
that she is dangerous, and the responsibility which falls upon me, as
leader of the expedition, positively appals me."
When M. de Morin had taken himself off, M. Delange allowed the
caravan to pass on, and took his place in the rearmost rank so as to
be able to watch all Walinda's movements.
She appeared in sight first of all from behind the rock pointed out
by Nassar. She was looking about her in evident fear, and no longer
had the pride and assurance so conspicuous in her in days gone by.
Then she was lost to view again. She was, doubtless, endeavouring to
hide herself behind the inequalities of the ground, amongst the
shrubs and briars, and instead of walking she was creeping, so as not
to be seen.
In the afternoon the caravan had to go down the side of a mountain,
too rocky and precipitous to afford even an appearance of vegetation.
The road along the smooth and slippery granite was perfectly exposed
to view, there was absolutely no foothold, and not a single tuft of
grass nor loose stone met the eye.
Then the Queen was once more seen on the top of the mountain just
left by the caravan; she was following, step by step, at a distance
of about fifty yards, the route taken by the escort. On she came,
with head erect and firm, unyielding tread. She had no stick to aid
her steps; she was entirely naked, illumined by the sunlight, and her
coloured skin, red rather than brown, stood out in bold contrast with
the grey and gloomy mountain side. When she stood still she might
well have been taken for a splendid statue in terra cotta, life size
and fixed in the rock.
The whole caravan could see her, and from time to time a soldier, or
a bearer, would stop to contemplate her.
At the foot of the mountain they had just past, vegetation began to
reappear, and presently isolated trees took the place of shrubs, to
be followed by extensive forests. The shores of Lake Albert were at
hand.
Walinda could now hide herself again, and she was no more seen until
the evening.
When night came on a halt was made, and the soldiers, after having
lighted fires to cook their evening meal and warm themselves, lay
down and were soon asleep.
M. Delange remained awake; he felt that the protection he was
endeavouring to extend to Walinda threw upon him a heavy
responsibility. He could not help occasionally sharing the fears of
his friend, and, distrusting the vigilance of the sentries, he kept a
sharp look out over the neighbourhood of the camp.
Towards midnight he saw Walinda once more. She was, doubtless, cold,
and she quietly, with stealthy steps, approached one of the fires of
the bivouac.
As soon as she reached it she began to warm herself, and when she had
succeeded in doing that, never suspecting that any one was watching
her, she crept on her hands and knees within the camp.
What was she going to do? What plan had she conceived? Did she intend
to glide to the tent where Madame de Guéran was sleeping?
He remained silent and motionless, but ready to interfere should need
be.
But the Queen, on that particular night, was not under the influence
of any passion; she was neither thinking of her lost love, nor of
vengeance. She was simply seeking to satisfy the hunger which was
torturing her.
In a moment of anger she had hurled down the abyss the provisions
handed over to her, and now, famished, mastered by instinct and not
by pride, she was prowling round the camp in search of nourishment,
seeking, near the smouldering embers, a few scraps of food, a
forgotten grain or two of eleusine, some sorghum roots, or a bone to
gnaw.
Having satisfied the pangs of hunger, she withdrew from the camp, and
hurried off to hide herself in the neighbouring woods.
On the following day nobody saw her. M. Delange in vain looked
through his telescope at every spot of high ground where she could
possibly appear, as well as at all the paths she could have chosen in
order to follow the caravan.
"She has taken it into her head to return to her own country," said
M. de Morin.
"I am more inclined to think that she has taken it into her head to
die," replied the doctor.
Miss Poles was close to the speakers, and the remark of M. Delange
roused her at once.
"Die!" said she. "Die! You talk about it quietly enough, and you do
her honour enough and to spare. The idea of suicide presupposes a
certain amount of self-will and intelligence, and this creature
possesses nothing but animal instinct. Animals do not kill
themselves; consult the naturalists."
"I have no need to consult them. Miss Poles," replied M. Delange, "to
tell you that you are mistaken. An animal will not poison itself of
its own free will, nor will it drown itself, nor will it break its
own neck—all that I admit. But dogs have been known to allow
themselves to die of hunger after the death of their masters."
"The dogs you refer to," said Miss Poles, with great acerbity, "had
lived in the society of civilized people."
"Do you mean me to infer from that remark that M. de Guéran is not
civilized?"
"I do not understand how M. de Guéran enters into the argument."
"But Walinda has lived in his society, and it appears to me—"
"I have not the least desire to know what appears to you. I merely
maintain that this female savage is not a woman."
* * * * *
M. Delange awaited nightfall impatiently. He thought it probable that
Walinda would approach the caravan, as on the previous evening, to
warm herself and pick up the crumbs of the evening meal. But the
sentries, kept awake by a keen north wind, were, for once, on the
alert. The Queen did not put in an appearance, and the fears
expressed by the doctor seemed likely to be realized. The unhappy
creature would die of cold and hunger in some cleft in the mountain.
The thought worried him; he tried to sleep, but he could not even
doze. Towards three o'clock in the morning he thought he heard a
wailing sound in the distance. He pricked up his ears and listened.
The sound seemed to draw nearer; it became more distinct, and was
repeated by the echoes of the mountain.
It was mournful in the extreme, and did not in the least resemble the
cry of a human being. It was more like the prolonged howl of a
wounded animal, or the baying of a dog at death.
The sentries listened in fear and uneasiness, and M. Delange had to
get up and reassure them. Then, unattended, he entered into a
neighbouring wood, where he thought he might find Walinda. Convinced
that the wailing proceeded from her, he was anxious to succour her.
He did not see a living thing, and at daylight the sound ceased.
Thereupon he bent his steps towards the tent where Madame de Guéran
had passed the night.
He knew that the Baroness was always the first to rise, and he hoped
to be able to speak to her before anybody could appear to interrupt
their conversation.