“’You see, I had gotten my speech all ready, in the launch.  But as I went up the ladder I knew that I had forgotten it.  Saint-Avit was in the smoking-room, with the Captain of the boat.  It seemed to me that I could never find the strength to tell him, when I saw him all ready to go ashore.  He was in full dress uniform, his sabre lay on the bench and he was wearing spurs.  No one wears spurs on shipboard.  I presented myself and we exchanged several remarks, but I must have seemed somewhat strained for from the first moment I knew that he sensed something.  Under some pretext he left the Captain, and led me aft near the great rudder wheel.  There, I dared speak.  Colonel, what did I say?  How I must have stammered!  He did not look at me.  Leaning his elbows on the railing he let his eyes wander far off, smiling slightly.  Then, of a sudden, when I was well tangled up in explanations, he looked at me coolly and said: 

“’I must thank you, my dear fellow, for having given yourself so much trouble.  But it is quite unnecessary.  I am out of sorts and have no intention of going ashore.  At least, I have the pleasure of having made your acquaintance.  Since I cannot profit by your hospitality, you must do me the favor of accepting mine as long as the launch stays by the vessel.’

“Then we went back to the smoking-room.  He himself mixed the cocktails.  He talked to me.  We discovered that we had mutual acquaintances.  Never shall I forget that face, that ironic and distant look, that sad and melodious voice.  Ah!  Colonel, gentlemen, I don’t know what they may say at the Geographic Office, or in the posts of the Soudan....  There can be nothing in it but a horrible suspicion.  Such a man, capable of such a crime,—­believe me, it is not possible.

“That is all, Lieutenant,” finished Chatelain, after a silence.  “I have never seen a sadder meal than that one.  The officers hurried through lunch without a word being spoken, in an atmosphere of depression against which no one tried to struggle.  And in this complete silence, you could see them always furtively watching the City of Naples, where she was dancing merrily in the breeze, a league from shore.

“She was still there in the evening when they assembled for dinner, and it was not until a blast of the whistle, followed by curls of smoke escaping from the red and black smokestack had announced the departure of the vessel for Gabes, that conversation was resumed; and even then, less gaily than usual.

“After that, Lieutenant, at the Officers’ Club at Sfax, they avoided like the plague any subject which risked leading the conversation back to Captain de Saint-Avit.”

Chatelain had spoken almost in a whisper, and the little people of the desert had not heard this singular history.  It was an hour since we had fired our last cartridge.  Around the pool the turtle doves, once more reassured, were bathing their feathers.  Mysterious great birds were flying under the darkening palm trees.  A less warm wind rocked the trembling black palm branches.  We had laid aside our helmets so that our temples could welcome the touch of the feeble breeze.