CHAPTER XXVIII.

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!"