"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."