"I do not go quite to the same length that you do, my dear friend," I replied, smiling. "It is quite possible, indeed, that our compatriot has not always been insensible to the beauty of this female savage, and that she, on her side, is infatuated about the first white man she has ever seen, just as Munza is about the first white woman brought to his notice. This sort of thing is by no means rare in Africa. But a man of intellect like M. de Guéran, a Parisian, is not very likely to surrender the habits of a life-time, civilization, and a wife such as his, simply to spend his days in the society of a native of Ulindi! Depend upon it, I am right. Ask any Parisian you like who has visited Egypt, Palestine, and such-like places. M. de Guéran, whatever position he may occupy amongst the Walindis, is deserving of our sympathy. But, Ali, no doubt, can give us some information as to what that position is. Let us continue our cross-examination of him, and cut short our private reflections, which, after all, as you will admit, proceed from jealousy."
Having thus delivered myself, I turned towards our interpreter, and said to him—
"You were received by Queen Walinda?"
"Yes, sir; the caravan entered her palace, a mass of mud huts covered with branches."
"What did you think of her? Is she as pretty as everybody says she is?"
"Yes, and prettier still," replied the Arab quickly. "She is tall and majestic, with a light brown complexion, ruddy lips, teeth like ivory, and large eyes gleaming between the black fringe of her eye-lashes."
I was afraid that this enthusiasm might involve a waste of time, so I changed the subject.
"Was M. de Guéran with her," I asked, "when you saw him?"
"Yes, he never leaves her, or, really, she never leaves him. He walks by her side, and they are surrounded by fifty female warriors, all young, better made even than the Soudan women, supple as serpents, and—"
Ali, ever enthusiastic, was going to plunge into a fresh dissertation, but I stopped him.