The garden displayed the same lack of animation as the street. A large tame lioness was stretching herself in the sun with the airs of an amorous cat. Ostriches were sleeping on the ground near some stiff, bluish aloes. It was noon—not a soul visible—a silence like that of a necropolis. Yellow palm trees cast never-wavering shadows upon the great, white terraces.
Jean, in his search for someone to speak to, reached the office of the Governor himself, whom he found surrounded by the heads of the various departments of the colonial service.
There, strange to say, they were working strenuously. Serious matters seemed to be under discussion at this hour traditionally consecrated to the repose of the siesta.
In exchange for the cover he delivered, Jean received another addressed to the spahis’ commanding officer.
It contained definite marching orders, which were communicated officially that afternoon, to all the troops in St Louis.
VII
When Jean found himself once more in the deserted street he could restrain himself no longer, and with trembling hands he opened the envelope.
This time it contained only his mother’s handwriting—handwriting that was shakier than usual, and stained with tears.
He devoured the lines—dizziness seized him, poor fellow—clasping his head in his hands, he leaned against the wall.