He hesitated, rolling a fresh cigarette thoughtfully.
“Well—no,” he answered. “As far as I am aware, there is no specific case upon which they rely.”
“Then they intend to transport her to New Caledonia for life, or perhaps even drag her to the guillotine, merely to deter other tribes from defying French rule!” I said, biting my lip.
“Sapristi! It is useless to argue with you,” he answered quickly. “You are fascinated by her, and, of course, will believe no ill. In your eyes she is simply a paragon of virtue. Therefore, the fewer words we exchange upon the painful topic the better.”
“You have declared my inability to save her,” I exclaimed with anger, indignant at his prejudice against her and at the thought of her, a prisoner, roughly handled by the uncouth Chasseurs, who even at that moment were hurrying her with all speed over the Desert towards Algiers. “You predict that all my efforts will be in vain; nevertheless, I shall follow, and do my best.”
“If you attempt to rescue her from the custody of the escort, you will without doubt get a bullet in your head.”
“I need no warnings,” I snapped; but further words were cut short by the sudden reappearance of General Seignouret, who, advancing to my friend, exclaimed—
“I must send an urgent dispatch to headquarters at Algiers. Whom do you recommend to carry it?”
“I am starting at once for Algiers,” I said; then, turning to Carmier, I urged, “Send Octave Uzanne, the Spahi. He is my friend.”