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—