One Friday, to his great joy, he came across, in the wall of the tell, a large inscribed mass of brickwork, weighing, perhaps, half-a-ton, which, from the cursory inspection he was able to make of it in the semi-darkness, he believed might prove sufficiently valuable to compensate all the disappointments of the weary months.  In his enthusiasm he had no more thought of his caravan, and though a terrific thunderstorm burst over the place just as his men were getting into position the rude derrick by means of which they would lower the masonry into the trench cut in the side of the tell, his ardour would suffer no intermission in the work.  It is true that in the trench they were in some measure protected from the storm.  The lashings had been fixed on the brickwork under his careful superintendence; the men were on the point of hauling on the ropes, when a thing of monstrous size and uncouth shape glided silently into the opening of the trench, and came to rest there.

Instantly the men gave a howl of terror, released the ropes, and took to their heels.  Monsieur Alphonse Marie de Montause was left alone.

Remembering that he was an explorer, an enthusiast, and a Frenchman, the reader will hardly need to be told that Monsieur de Montause was beside himself with fury.  The dropping of the ropes had caused the masonry to fall against one of the feet of the derrick, and it came down with a crash.  But this was not the worst.  In the semi-darkness, the nature of the intruder could not have been clear to Monsieur de Montause; but he heard a voice calling in some unknown tongue; some human being had dared to interlope upon his peculiar domain; and the wrathful explorer did only what might have been expected of him:  he began to pour forth a torrent of very violent reproof and objurgation, to which the sober English tongue can do scant justice.

“Ah! scelerats!” he cried.  “What do you mean?  De quoi melez-vous?  You are rogues:  you are trespassers.  Know you not that I—­oui, moi qui vous parle—­have alone the right of entry into this tell?  Has not the administration of the French Republic arranged it?  Allez-vous-en, allez-vous-en, coquins, scelerats!”

“Mais, monsieur—­” began Rodier, stepping out of the car.

The sound of his own language only added fuel to Monsieur de Montause’s wrath.  Had some rival appeared on the scene at the very moment when he saw the crown of his long toil?  Had some overeager competitor obtained a permit, come before his time, and arrived to enter upon the fruits of his predecessor’s labours and rob him of half his glory?  “Mais, monsieur,” said Rodier, but the explorer fairly shrieked him to silence, approached him, smote one fist with the other, and hurled abuse at him with such incoherent volubility that Smith, whose French was pretty good, could not make out a word of it, and held on to the levers in helpless laughter.