Lingard seemed not to have heard a word.  His chin rested on his breast.  D’Alcacer appraised the remaining length of his cigarette and went on in an equable tone through which pierced a certain sadness: 

“No, there are not many of them.  And yet they are all.  They decorate our life for us.  They are the gracious figures on the drab wall which lies on this side of our common grave.  They lead a sort of ritual dance, that most of us have agreed to take seriously.  It is a very binding agreement with which sincerity and good faith and honour have nothing to do.  Very binding.  Woe to him or her who breaks it.  Directly they leave the pageant they get lost.”

Lingard turned his head sharply and discovered d’Alcacer looking at him with profound attention.

“They get lost in a maze,” continued d’Alcacer, quietly.  “They wander in it lamenting over themselves.  I would shudder at that fate for anything I loved.  Do you know, Captain Lingard, how people lost in a maze end?” he went on holding Lingard by a steadfast stare.  “No? . . .  I will tell you then.  They end by hating their very selves, and they die in disillusion and despair.”

As if afraid of the force of his words d’Alcacer laid a soothing hand lightly on Lingard’s shoulder.  But Lingard continued to look into the embers at his feet and remained insensible to the friendly touch.  Yet d’Alcacer could not imagine that he had not been heard.  He folded his arms on his breast.

“I don’t know why I have been telling you all this,” he said, apologetically.  “I hope I have not been intruding on your thoughts.”

“I can think of nothing,” Lingard declared, unexpectedly.  “I only know that your voice was friendly; and for the rest—­”

“One must get through a night like this somehow,” said d’Alcacer.  “The very stars seem to lag on their way.  It’s a common belief that a drowning man is irresistibly compelled to review his past experience.  Just now I feel quite out of my depth, and whatever I have said has come from my experience.  I am sure you will forgive me.  All that it amounts to is this:  that it is natural for us to cry for the moon but it would be very fatal to have our cries heard.  For what could any one of us do with the moon if it were given to him?  I am speaking now of us—­common mortals.”

It was not immediately after d’Alcacer had ceased speaking but only after a moment that Lingard unclasped his fingers, got up, and walked away.  D’Alcacer followed with a glance of quiet interest the big, shadowy form till it vanished in the direction of an enormous forest tree left in the middle of the stockade.  The deepest shade of the night was spread over the ground of Belarab’s fortified courtyard.  The very embers of the fires had turned black, showing only here and there a mere spark; and the forms of the prone sleepers could hardly be distinguished from the hard ground on which they rested, with their arms lying beside them on the mats.  Presently Mrs. Travers appeared quite close to d’Alcacer, who rose instantly.