"Captain Masson draws his revolver and fires on Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh,
shooting off three fingers of his left hand," said Morhange.
"But," finished Eg-Anteouen imperturbably, "but Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh,
with one blow of his saber, splits Captain Masson's skull."..
He gave a silent, satisfied laugh as he spoke. The dying flame lit up
his face. We saw the gleaming black stem of his pipe. He held it in
his left hand. One finger, no, two fingers only on that hand. Hello! I
had not noticed that before.
Morhange also noticed it, for he finished with a loud laugh.
"Then, after splitting his skull, you robbed him. You took his pipe
from him. Bravo, Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh!"
Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh does not reply, but I can see how satisfied with
himself he is. He keeps on smoking. I can hardly see his features now.
The firelight pales, dies. I have never laughed so much as this
evening. I am sure Morhange never has, either. Perhaps he will forget
the cloister. And all because Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh stole Captain
Masson's pipe....
Again that accursed song. "The seventh is a boy, one of whose eyes has
flown away." One cannot imagine more senseless words. It is very
strange, really: there seem to be four of us in this cave now. Four, I
say, five, six, seven, eight.... Make yourselves at home, my friends.
What! there are no more of you?... I am going to find out at last how
the spirits of this region are made, the Gamphasantes, the
Blemyens.... Morhange says that the Blemyens have their faces on
the middle of their chests. Surely this one who is seizing me in his
arms is not a Blemyen! Now he is carrying me outside. And Morhange
... I do not want them to forget Morhange....
They did not forget him; I see him perched on a camel in front of that
one to which I am fastened. They did well to fasten me, for otherwise
I surely would tumble off. These spirits certainly are not bad
fellows. But what a long way it is! I want to stretch out. To sleep. A
while ago we surely were following a long passage, then we were in the
open air. Now we are again in an endless stifling corridor. Here are
the stars again.... Is this ridiculous course going to keep on?...
Hello, lights! Stars, perhaps. No, lights, I say. A stairway, on my
word; of rocks, to be sure, but still, a stairway. How can the
camels...? But it is no longer a camel; this is a man carrying me. A
man dressed in white, not a Gamphasante nor a Blemyen. Morhange
must be giving himself airs with his historical reasoning, all false,
I repeat, all false. Good Morhange. Provided that his Gamphasante
does not let him fall on this unending stairway. Something glitters on
the ceiling. Yes, it is a lamp, a copper lamp, as at Tunis, at
Barbouchy's. Good, here again you cannot see anything. But I am making
a fool of myself; I am lying down; now I can go to sleep. What a silly
day!... Gentlemen, I assure you that it is unnecessary to bind me: I
do not want to go down on the boulevards.