CHAPTER XXXIV.

M. Delange was not mistaken; Madame de Guéran had opened the doorway of her tent at dawn of day. As soon as she saw the doctor she went quickly towards him and, holding out her hand, said affectionately—

"So early! Then you have something to say to me. I am delighted, for I, also, for some days past, have had something to say to you, and you have never been near me."

"I feared to be in the way," said he.

"How could that possibly be?" she replied quickly. "Do you think that I have forgotten our long conversation one night on the mountain, just before we entered the southern provinces? You were not afraid of being in the way on that evening, and you probed my poor heart as if you had that terrible scalpel of yours in your hand. I have never borne you any ill-will for that, my dear doctor, as you know full well. On the contrary, from that very time I have inscribed your name on the list of my best friends, and that is the reason why, having sinned against friendship, I want to beg your pardon to-day."

"What sin have you committed, my dear penitent?"

"I agreed," she replied, "to your yielding your place to your _confrère_. I have allowed Dr. Desrioux to attend almost exclusively upon my husband."

"I was anxious that it should be so. You had not seen Desrioux for a long time, and I effaced myself so as to allow you to be often with him and hear all he had to say."

"Do you imagine," she exclaimed, "that he has spoken of his love?"

"There was no necessity for him to speak. He proved it to you by coming after you."

"And do you think," she continued, "that I can still now—"

She stopped; she dared not go on.

He put her thought into words.

"Do you think I can still love him? is what you wished to say. Yes, I do think so; I am convinced of it. You love him, and you do not any longer love your husband."

"It is untrue! It is untrue," she said, hiding her face in her hands.

"It is true," he replied. "You know very well that it is true, and you are suffering more than ever. It is simply my conviction on this score which has caused me no longer to attend upon your husband."

"I do not understand you," said she in amazement.

"I would not have you say to yourself," he replied boldly, "that he owed his recovery to me, and I would not have you reproach me for your unhappiness."

"Oh, how can you say so?"

"I would have watched over him and saved him if Desrioux had not come. But he could replace me and I preferred to disappear. It is his business to effect this cure. His large heart and unselfish disposition will in it find their proper work. His love will profit, too, by it, for you will only love him the more for the self-denial he displays, and the self-immolation to which his professional honour and his conscience condemn him."

The camp showed signs of returning to life, and the solitude enjoyed by M. Delange and Madame de Guéran was on the point of being interfered with.

"In a few moments," said the doctor hurriedly, "our conversation will be interrupted. Do let me say a few words to you."

"Do so by all means. You are right; I had forgotten that you had something to say to me. What is the matter, my friend?"

"I am come to ask you to use your influence with M. de Morin to put an end to a persecution which worries me in spite of myself."

"A persecution!" she exclaimed. "Has M. de Morin been persecuting anybody in the caravan? Impossible? He is so good, so just—"

"You misunderstand me; he is not persecuting anybody. But, in consequence of an order he has thought fit to issue, and which, I admit, he had every right to give, a certain being is at this moment suffering—dying, perhaps."

"Good heavens? What are you saying? Why did you not tell me of this before? My negligence is, perhaps, to blame. Yes, since our departure from Cairo I have always attended to the sick and wounded in the caravan and protected the weak, but now I am neglecting all my duties."

"I am not referring to any member of the caravan," said the doctor. "Nobody amongst us lacks either care or protection. I am speaking of an unhappy woman who persists in following us. She is one who is unworthy of all our pity, but at the same time one whom you have both the right and the will to save."

"Who is it?"

"Our enemy, Walinda."

"What! Is she here?"

"No; but she is close by. At least, I hope so."

He explained, as briefly as possible, to the Baroness the urgent reasons which had compelled the Europeans to convey the Queen to some distance from her country.

"It was the right thing to do," she said. "This woman might have proved formidable to the Monbuttoos, and we were bound to protect our former allies."

Delange then informed her of the no less urgent reasons which had actuated M. de Morin in ordering Walinda to be set at liberty.

"For my sake!" exclaimed the Baroness. "It is to avoid wounding my susceptibilities that this course has been pursued, and this woman has been driven away! It is simply madness," continued Madame de Guéran, growing warm. "Do you imagine that I have paid any attention to her, or have ever seen her? Do you fancy for one moment that I should do her the honour of regarding her as an enemy and fearing her? Why should I have any grudge against her, I should like to know?" she added sarcastically. "What has she done that is not quite natural? What crime has she committed? She was quite comfortable in her dominions, when one day it pleased a European to enter her kingdom, in the face of all warnings and threats. He was young and handsome, and, above all, a white man; she had never seen any people of his complexion; she was astonished and dazzled, then she was touched, grew enthusiastic, and ended by loving the stranger. He, for his part, he, a married man, but one of those men who think nothing of stray amours, he, I say, also fell in love with this beautiful creature, and was contented to bask in her smiles. Then his wife, the other woman, she who had stayed in France to lament his absence, she conceives the idea of erecting a tomb far away in Africa for the defunct, but instead of a corpse, she finds a living man, rather annoyed, perhaps, at being disturbed and discovered in his illicit domicile. A feeling of shame, however, drives him to make an attempt to join, if not his wife, at all events those friends who have come from so great a distance to his rescue. But the African woman is jealous; she does not care about being thrown on one side for the sake of the new comer, and she runs after her prisoner. He has an axe, he could defend himself, he could kill her, but he does nothing of the kind, he is afraid of hurting her. She has no such consideration for him; she seizes him, hurls him to the ground, and half murders him. According to the standard of morality in these countries she is right; was he not her prisoner, her slave, her property, her chattel? Would our laws even condemn her? Was he not armed? Could he not have resisted? And I am supposed to have a grudge against this woman? I am not so unjust. I can see her without suffering from the sight! If M. de Guéran had died of his wounds, I will not say but that I should have looked upon certain things with a more indulgent eye, and perhaps it would have been necessary to banish from my sight his—murderess. But he is being cured rapidly. He will soon be up and about again, and when he does come to life, I should not like him to see his fondly loved—African suffering, and at death's door. I see M. de Morin, and I wish to speak to him."

Madame de Guéran, as a rule, so calm and self-possessed, had gradually roused herself to a state of excitement as she thus gave vent to the bitterness of her spirit. Her voice had quite a novel tone, and her look an unwonted fire, as she launched forth this accusation against M. de Guéran, and overwhelmed him with her complaints, as if to justify herself in her own eyes for not feeling towards him as she had formerly felt.

A few moments later on M. de Morin came to the doctor.

"You are a pretty fellow, you are," said he, laughing, "to complain to the Baroness about your commanding officer, and retail his orders. Very well, my dear sir, run after your Venus, and give her a snug corner at our shifting fireside. But, if misfortune comes of it, in strict justice do not hold me responsible."

As the sun rose in the horizon and the caravan was making ready to start, M. Delange, followed by Nassar and three or four of the shrewdest Nubians, set to work to seek for the Queen. They remained concealed in the wood until the caravan had disappeared from view, thinking that Walinda would only await its departure to emerge from her hiding place, and, after devouring the scraps left behind in the abandoned camp, set off once more in pursuit.

Their calculations were quite correct. A quarter of an hour had not elapsed before they saw the Queen creep out of a dense thicket, and, under the impression that she was alone, advance towards where they were. As soon as they thought she could not escape them, they rushed upon her all at once, surrounded her, and took possession of her after a slight resistance.

Then, whilst she remained in fear and trembling, motionless on the spot where the Nubians had, so to speak, pinned her, Nassar explained to her that, so far from anybody wishing to do her harm, she would in future be permitted to live in the midst of the caravan. On receiving this piece of news, her eyes, dimmed by suffering and fatigue, brightened, the blood surged up to her cheeks, and she seemed overjoyed at being once more a prisoner.

Food was given to her, and she seized upon it with avidity, retiring into a corner and eating until her hunger was appeased. That operation over, she returned to her captors, and herself held out her arms to be fettered. Delange did not feel justified in omitting this formality, for, though the fears of his friend de Morin appeared to him to be exaggerated, he felt bound to pay some attention to them. The prisoner and her escort speedily overtook the caravan, and were lost in its midst.

On the same day they descended the last slopes of the Blue Mountains, and gained Lake Albert. The spot they reached was within two miles of the one from which MM. Desrioux and de Pommerelle had started. A dozen Beluchs, sent out as scouts, perceived their comrades, for whom they had been waiting for the last three weeks on the shores of the lake. They met and fraternized, and the Europeans of the de Guéran expedition experienced a real pleasure in tasting the good things brought from France by MM. de Pommerelle and Desrioux. Explorers who have for a long time suffered from privation, alone can understand this kind of substantial gratification.