“Chatelain,” I said, “it is time to go back to the bordj.”

Slowly we picked up the dead doves.  I felt the Sergeant looking at me reproachfully, as if regretting that he had spoken.  Yet during all the time that our return trip lasted, I could not find the strength to break our desolate silence with a single word.

The night had almost fallen when we arrived.  The flag which surmounted the post was still visible, drooping on its standard, but already its colors were indistinguishable.  To the west the sun had disappeared behind the dunes gashed against the black violet of the sky.

When we had crossed the gate of the fortifications, Chatelain left me.

“I am going to the stables,” he said.

I returned alone to that part of the fort where the billets for the Europeans and the stores of ammunition were located.  An inexpressible sadness weighed upon me.

I thought of my comrades in French garrisons.  At this hour they must be returning home to find awaiting them, spread out upon the bed, their dress uniform, their braided tunic, their sparkling epaulettes.

“Tomorrow,” I said to myself, “I shall request a change of station.”

The stairway of hard-packed earth was already black.  But a few gleams of light still seemed palely prowling in the office when I entered.

A man was sitting at my desk, bending over the files of orders.  His back was toward me.  He did not hear me enter.

“Really, Gourrut, my lad, I beg you not to disturb yourself.  Make yourself completely at home.”

The man had risen, and I saw him to be quite tall, slender and very pale.

“Lieutenant Ferrieres, is it not?”

He advanced, holding out his hand.

“Captain de Saint-Avit.  Delighted, my dear fellow.”

At the same time Chatelain appeared on the threshold.

“Sergeant,” said the newcomer, “I cannot congratulate you on the little I have seen.  There is not a camel saddle which is not in want of buckles, and they are rusty enough to suggest that it rains at Hassi-Inifel three hundred days in the year.  Furthermore, where were you this afternoon?  Among the four Frenchmen who compose the post, I found only on my arrival one convict, opposite a quart of eau-de-vie.  We will change all that, I hope.  At ease.”

“Captain,” I said, and my voice was colorless, while Chatelain remained frozen at attention, “I must tell you that the Sergeant was with me, that it is I who am responsible for his absence from the post, that he is an irreproachable non-commissioned officer from every point of view, and that if we had been warned of your arrival—­”

“Evidently,” he said, with a coldly ironical smile.  “Also, Lieutenant, I have no intention of holding him responsible for the negligences which attach to your office.  He is not obliged to know that the officer who abandons a post like Hassi-Inifel, if it is only for two hours, risks not finding much left on his return.  The Chaamba brigands, my dear sir, love firearms, and for the sake of the sixty muskets in your racks, I am sure they would not scruple to make an officer, whose otherwise excellent record is well known to me, account for his absence to a court-martial.  Come with me, if you please.  We will finish the little inspection I began too rapidly a little while ago.”