Benjamin had listened, quivering.  Ever since that son of the great river had arrived, he had continued gazing at him, with passion rising in his dreamy eyes.  And on hearing him speak in this fashion he could no longer restrain himself, but rose, went round the table, and sat down beside him.

“The Niger—­the immense plains—­tell us all about them,” he said.

“The Niger, the good giant, the father of us all over yonder!” responded Dominique.  “I was barely eight years old when my parents quitted Senegal, yielding to an impulse of reckless bravery and wild hope, possessed by a craving to plunge into the Soudan and conquer as chance might will it.  There are many days’ march among rocks and scrub and rivers from St. Louis to our present farm, far beyond Djenny.  And I no longer remember the first journey.  It seems to me as if I sprang from good father Niger himself, from the wondrous fertility of his waters.  He is gentle but immense, rolling countless waves like the sea, and so broad, so vast, that no bridge can span him as he flows from horizon to horizon.  He carries archipelagoes on his breast, and stretches out arms covered with herbage like pasture land.  And there are the depths where flotillas of huge fishes roam at their ease.  Father Niger has his tempests, too, and his days of fire, when his waters beget life in the burning clasp of the sun.  And he has his delightful nights, his soft and rosy nights, when peace descends on earth from the stars. . . .  He is the ancestor, the founder, the fertilizer of the Western Soudan, which he has dowered with incalculable wealth, wresting it from the invasion of neighboring Saharas, building it up of his own fertile ooze.  It is he who every year at regular seasons floods the valley like an ocean and leaves it rich, pregnant, as it were, with amazing vegetation.  Even like the Nile, he has vanquished the sands; he is the father of untold generations, the creative deity of a world as yet unknown, which in later times will enrich old Europe. . . .  And the valley of the Niger, the good giant’s colossal daughter.  Ah! what pure immensity is hers; what a flight, so to say, into the infinite!  The plain opens and expands, unbroken and limitless.  Ever and ever comes the plain, fields are succeeded by other fields stretching out of sight, whose end a plough would only reach in months and months.  All the food needed for a great nation will be reaped there when cultivation is practised with a little courage and a little science, for it is still a virgin kingdom such as the good river created it, thousands of years ago.  To-morrow this kingdom will belong to the workers who are bold enough to take it, each carving for himself a domain as large as his strength of toil can dream of; not an estate of acres, but leagues and leagues of ploughland wavy with eternal crops. . . .  And what breadth of atmosphere there is in that immensity!  What delight it is to inhale all the air of that space at one breath, and how healthy and strong the life, for one is no longer piled one upon the other, but one feels free and powerful, master of that part of the earth which one has desired under the sun which shines for all.”