"A la Bastille, a la Bastille,
On aime bien, on aime bien,
Nini, Peau de Chien."
For three days neither of us spoke to the other. My ex
asperation was too deep for words. Was I, then, to be held responsible for his avatars! Was it my fault if, between two phrases, one seemed always some allusion—
"The situation is intolerable," I said to myself. "It cannot last longer."
It was to cease very soon.
One week after the scene of the photograph the courier arrived. I had scarcely glanced at the index of the Zeitschrift, the German review of which I have already spoken, when I started with uncontrollable amazement. I had just read: "Reise und Entdeckungen zwei fronzosischer offiziere, Rittmeisters Morhange und Oberleutnants de Saint-Avit, in westlichen Sahara."
At the same time I heard my comrade's voice.
"Anything interesting in this number?"
"No," I answered carelessly.
"Let's see."