"'It is a great art, the barber's!' I whispered to myself, as I mixed the lather and plastered it gently on his chin.
"He did not wake; he did not even stir. His soul was far away, communing with the souls of other pious Musselmans elsewhere; and while it wandered, I—moi qui vous parle—shaved Senussi-el-Mahdi where he lay.
"To what purpose? You will begin to grasp my purpose when I describe the manner in which I shaved him.
"For I did not shave him altogether; nor did I shave him precisely as the barbers shave. Far from it. On the contrary, I shaved off the beard on the right side of his face and the hair on the same side of his head; and then I took cosmetics and twisted out his great moustache until it stretched six inches or more either way, like furious spikes of straw.
"'Now for a looking-glass,' I said to myself; and having found a mirror, I so fixed it that, when Senussi-el-Mahdi woke, he would look straight into it and see his altered image.
"To what purpose? Surely you have guessed. But I had not yet quite finished my strange task.
"'Voyons, mon cher,' I went on, soliloquising: 'I think I should like your portrait as a souvenir.'
"So I crept back once more and fetched my camera, and blew magnesium powder through the flame of the little lamp to make a flash-light, and took my snap-shot of Senussi-el-Mahdi in his trance.
"The flash aroused him from his slumbers. His eyes opened, and he saw the reflection of his face. Doubtless he would have yelled in his amazement, but I took a quick step forward and clapped my hands upon his mouth.
"My self-possession and my quick wit had now returned to me. I was no longer the schoolboy, humbled and chastised. I was Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski, master of the situation. My tongue was loosened, and my words flowed quickly.