The poor fellows’ tempers were getting frayed and thin.  The Colonel’s sneer was like a match to a magazine, and in an instant the Frenchman was dancing in front of him with a broken torrent of angry words.  His hand was clutching at Cochrane’s throat before Belmont and Stephens could pull him off.

“If it were not for your grey hairs—­” he said.

“Damn your impudence!” cried the Colonel.

“If we have to die, let us die like gentlemen, and not like so many corner-boys,” said Belmont with dignity.

“I only said I was glad to see that Monsieur Fardet has learned something from his adventures,” the Colonel sneered.

“Shut up, Cochrane!  What do you want to aggravate him for?” cried the Irishman.

“Upon my word, Belmont, you forget yourself!  I do not permit people to address me in this fashion.”

“You should look after your own manners, then.”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, here are the ladies!” cried Stephens, and the angry, over-strained men relapsed into a gloomy silence, pacing up and down, and jerking viciously at their moustaches.  It is a very catching thing, ill-temper, for even Stephens began to be angry at their anger, and to scowl at them as they passed him.  Here they were at a crisis in their fate, with the shadow of death above them, and yet their minds were all absorbed in some personal grievance so slight that they could hardly put it into words.  Misfortune brings the human spirit to a rare height, but the pendulum still swings.

But soon their attention was drawn away to more important matters.  A council of war was being held beside the wells, and the two Emirs, stern and composed, were listening to a voluble report from the leader of the patrol.  The prisoners noticed that, though the fierce, old man stood like a graven image, the younger Emir passed his hand over his beard once or twice with a nervous gesture, the thin, brown fingers twitching among the long, black hair.

“I believe the Gippies are after us,” said Belmont.  “Not very far off either, to judge by the fuss they are making.”

“It looks like it.  Something has scared them.”

“Now he’s giving orders.  What can it be?  Here, Mansoor, what is the matter?”

The dragoman came running up with the light of hope shining upon his brown face.

“I think they have seen something to frighten them.  I believe that the soldiers are behind us.  They have given the order to fill the water-skins, and be ready for a start when the darkness comes.  But I am ordered to gather you together, for the Moolah is coming to convert you all.  I have already told him that you are all very much inclined to think the same with him.”