The eagle disappeared in ether, and the Frenchman, recalled by the panther’s displeasure, admired afresh her rounded flanks and the perfect grace of her attitude.  She was as pretty as a woman.  The blonde brightness of her robe shaded, with delicate gradations, to the dead-white tones of her furry thighs; the vivid sunshine brought out the brilliancy of this living gold and its variegated brown spots with indescribable lustre.  The panther and the Provencal gazed at each other with human comprehension.  She trembled with delight—­the coquettish creature!—­as she felt the nails of her friend scratching the strong bones of her skull.  Her eyes glittered like flashes of lightning, and then she closed them tightly.

“She has a soul!” cried the soldier, watching the tranquil repose of this sovereign of the desert, golden as the sands, white as their pulsing light, solitary and burning as they.

* * * * *

“Well,” she said, “I have read your defense of the beasts.  But tell me what was the end of this friendship between two beings so formed to understand each other?”

“Ah, exactly,” I replied.  “It ended as all great passions end,—­by a misunderstanding.  Both sides imagine treachery, pride prevents an explanation, and the rupture comes about through obstinacy.”

“Yes,” she said, “and sometimes a word, a look, an exclamation suffices.  But tell me the end of the story.”

“That is difficult,” I answered.  “But I will give it to you in the words of the old veteran, as he finished the bottle of champagne and exclaimed:—­

“’I don’t know how I could have hurt her, but she suddenly turned upon me as if in fury, and seized my thigh with her sharp teeth; and yet (as I afterwards remembered) not cruelly.  I thought she meant to devour me, and I plunged my dagger into her throat.  She rolled over with a cry that froze my soul; she looked at me in her death struggle, but without anger.  I would have given all the world—­my cross, which I had not then gained, all, everything—­to have brought her back to life.  It was as if I had murdered a friend, a human being.  When the soldiers who saw my flag came to my rescue they found me weeping.  Monsieur,’ he resumed, after a moment’s silence, ’I went through the wars in Germany, Spain, Russia, France; I have marched my carcass well-nigh over all the world; but I have seen nothing comparable to the desert.  Ah, it is grand! glorious!’

“‘What were your feelings there?’ I asked.

“’They cannot be told, young man.  Besides, I do not always regret my panther and my palm-tree oasis:  I must be very sad for that.  But I will tell you this:  in the desert there is all—­and yet nothing.’

“‘Stay!—­explain that.’

“‘Well, then,’ he said, with a gesture of impatience, ’God is there, and man is not.’”

FROM ‘THE COUNTRY DOCTOR’