"Tomorrow," I said to myself, "I shall request a change of station."
The stairway of hard-packed earth was already black. But a few gleams of light still seemed palely prowling in the office when I entered.
A man was sitting at my desk, bending over the files of orders. His back was toward me. He did not hear me enter.
"Really, Gourrut, my lad, I beg you not to disturb yourself. Make yourself completely at home."
The man had risen, and I saw him to be quite tall, slender and very pale.
"Lieutenant Ferrières, is it not?"
He advanced, holding out his hand.
"Captain de Saint-Avit. Delighted, my dear fellow."
At the same time Chatelain appeared on the threshold.
"Sergeant," said the newcomer, "I cannot congratulate you on the little I have seen. There is not a camel saddle which is not in want of buckles, and they are rusty enough to suggest that it rains at Hassi-Inifel three hundred days in the year. Furthermore, where were you this afternoon? Among the four Frenchmen who compose the post, I found only on my arrival one convict, opposite a quart of eau-de-vie. We will change all that, I hope. At ease."