“No, I must tell you.  A long time ago, on the bank of the river where there is water, at Gao, where my father was a prince, there was....  Well, one day, one feast day, there came from the interior of the country an old magician, dressed in skins and feathers, with a mask and a pointed head-dress, with castanets, and two serpents in a bag.  On the village square, where all our people formed in a circle, he danced the boussadilla.  I was in the first row, and because I had a necklace of pink tourmaline, he quickly saw that I was the daughter of a chief.  So he spoke to me of the past, of the great Mandingue Empire over which my grandfathers had ruled, of our enemies, the fierce Kountas, of everything, and finally he said: 

“‘Have no fear, little girl.’

“Then he said again, ’Do not be afraid.  Evil days may be in store for you, but what does that matter?  For one day you will see Gao gleaming on the horizon, no longer a servile Gao reduced to the rank of a little Negro town, but the splendid Gao of other days, the great capital of the country of the blacks, Gao reborn, with its mosque of seven towers and fourteen cupolas of turquoise, with its houses with cool courts, its fountains, its watered gardens, all blooming with great red and white flowers....  That will be for you the hour of deliverance and of royalty.’”

Tanit-Zerga was standing up.  All about us, on our heads, the sun blazed on the hamada, burning it white.

Suddenly the child stretched out her arms.  She gave a terrible cry.

“Gao!  There is Gao!”

I looked at her.

“Gao,” she repeated.  “Oh, I know it well!  There are the trees and the fountains, the cupolas and the towers, the palm trees, the great red and white flowers.  Gao....”

Indeed, along the shimmering horizon rose a fantastic city with mighty buildings that towered, tier on tier, until they formed a rainbow.  Wide-eyed, we stood and watched the terrible mirage quiver feverishly before us.

“Gao!” I cried.  “Gao!”

And almost immediately I uttered another cry, of sorrow and of horror.  Tanit-Zerga’s little hand relaxed in mine.  I had just time to catch the child in my arms and hear her murmur as in a whisper: 

“And then that will be the day of deliverance.  The day of deliverance and of royalty.”

Several hours later I took the knife with which we had skinned the desert gazelle and, in the sand at the foot of the rock where Tanit-Zerga had given up her spirit, I made a little hollow where she was to rest.

When everything was ready, I wanted to look once more at that dear little face.  Courage failed me for a moment....  Then I quickly drew the haik over the brown face and laid the body of the child in the hollow.

I had reckoned without Gale.

The eyes of the mongoose had not left me during the whole time that I was about my sad duty.  When she heard the first handfuls of sand fall on the haik, she gave a sharp cry.  I looked at her and saw her ready to spring, her eyes daring fire.