It seemed to me that the voice of the mountain, re-echoing, repeated that sinister last line to infinity:
"And the seventh is a boy, one of whose eyes has flown away."
"Here it is," said the Targa.
A black hole in the wall opened up. Bending over, Eg-Anteouen entered. We followed him. The darkness closed around us.
A yellow flame. Eg-Anteouen had struck his flint. He set fire to a pile of brush near the surface. At first we could see nothing. The smoke blinded us.
Eg-Anteouen stayed at one side of the opening of the cave. He was seated and, more inscrutible than ever, had begun again to blow great puffs of gray smoke from his pipe.
The burning brush cast a flickering light. I caught a glimpse of Morhange. He seemed very pale. With both hands braced against the wall, he was working to decipher a mass of signs which I could scarcely distinguish.
Nevertheless, I thought I could see his hands trembling.
"The devil," I thought, finding it more and more difficult to co-ordinate my thoughts, "he seems to be as unstrung as I."
I heard him call out to Eg-Anteouen in what seemed to me a loud voice: