I rose and lifted her hand to my lips.  She struck me with it so sharply as to make my lips bleed, as if to brand me as her possession.

* * * * *

I was in the dark corridor again.  The young girl in the red silk tunic walked ahead of me.

“Here is your room,” she said.  “If you wish, I will take you to the dining-room.  The others are about to meet there for dinner.”

She spoke an adorable lisping French.

“No, Tanit-Zerga, I would rather stay here this evening.  I am not hungry.  I am tired.”

“You remember my name?” she said.

She seemed proud of it.  I felt that in her I had an ally in case of need.

“I remember your name, Tanit-Zerga, because it is beautiful."[12]

[Footnote 12:  In Berber, Tanit means a spring; zerga is the feminine of the adjective azreg, blue. (Note by M. Leroux.)]

Then I added: 

“Now, leave me, little one.  I want to be alone.”

It seemed as if she would never go.  I was touched, but at the same time vexed.  I felt a great need of withdrawing into myself.

“My room is above yours,” she said.  “There is a copper gong on the table here.  You have only to strike if you want anything.  A white Targa will answer.”

For a second, these instructions amused me.  I was in a hotel in the midst of the Sahara.  I had only to ring for service.

I looked about my room.  My room!  For how long?

It was fairly large.  Cushions, a couch, an alcove cut into the rock, all lighted by a great window covered by a matting shade.

I went to the window and raised the shade.  The light of the setting sun entered.

I leaned my elbows on the rocky sill.  Inexpressible emotion filled my heart.  The window faced south.  It was about two hundred feet above the ground.  The black, polished volcanic wall yawned dizzily below me.

In front of me, perhaps a mile and a half away, was another wall, the first enclosure mentioned in the Critias.  And beyond it in the distance, I saw the limitless red desert.

XII

MORHANGE DISAPPEARS

My fatigue was so great that I lay as if unconscious until the next day.  I awoke about three o’clock in the afternoon.

I thought at once of the events of the previous day; they seemed amazing.

“Let me see,” I said to myself.  “Let us work this out.  I must begin by consulting Morhange.”

I was ravenously hungry.

The gong which Tanit-Zerga had pointed out lay within arm’s reach.  I struck it.  A white Targa appeared.

“Show me the way to the library,” I ordered.

He obeyed.  As we wound our way through the labyrinth of stairs and corridors I realized that I could never have found my way without his help.

Morhange was in the library, intently reading a manuscript.