During M.de Montriveau's voyage of discovery to the sources of the Nile, he had had an argument with one of his guides, surely the most extraordinary debate in the annals of travel.The district that he wished to explore could only be reached on foot across a tract of desert.Only one of his guides knew the way;no traveller had penetrated before into that part of the country, where the undaunted officer hoped to find a solution of several scientific problems.In spite of the representations made to him by the guide and the older men of the place, he started upon the formidable journey.Summoning up courage, already highly strung by the prospect of dreadful difficulties, he set out in the morning.
The loose sand shifted under his feet at every step; and when, at the end of a long day's march, he lay down to sleep on the ground, he had never been so tired in his life.He knew, however, that he must be up and on his way before dawn next day, and his guide assured him that they should reach the end of their journey towards noon.That promise kept up his courage and gave him new strength.In spite of his sufferings, he continued his march, with some blasphemings against science; he was ashamed to complain to his guide, and kept his pain to himself.After marching for a third of the day, he felt his strength failing, his feet were bleeding, he asked if they should reach the place soon.
"In an hour's time," said the guide.Armand braced himself for another hour's march, and they went on.
The hour slipped by; he could not so much as see against the sky the palm-trees and crests of hill that should tell of the end of the journey near at hand; the horizon line of sand was vast as the circle of the open sea.
He came to a stand, refused to go farther, and threatened the guide--he had deceived him, murdered him; tears of rage and weariness flowed over his fevered cheeks; he was bowed down with fatigue upon fatigue, his throat seemed to be glued by the desert thirst.The guide meanwhile stood motionless, listening to these complaints with an ironical expression, studying the while, with the apparent indifference of an Oriental, the scarcely perceptible indications in the lie of the sands, which looked almost black, like burnished gold.
"I have made a mistake," he remarked coolly."I could not make out the track, it is so long since I came this way; we are surely on it now, but we must push on for two hours.""The man is right," thought M.de Montriveau.
So he went on again, struggling to follow the pitiless native.
It seemed as if he were bound to his guide by some thread like the invisible tie between the condemned man and the headsman.
But the two hours went by, Montriveau had spent his last drops of energy, and the skyline was a blank, there were no palm-trees, no hills.He could neither cry out nor groan, he lay down on the sand to die, but his eyes would have frightened the boldest;something in his face seemed to say that he would not die alone.
His guide, like a very fiend, gave him back a cool glance like a man that knows his power, left him to lie there, and kept at a safe distance out of reach of his desperate victim.At last M.
Montriveau recovered strength enough for a last curse.
The guide came nearer, silenced him with a steady look, and said, "Was it not your own will to go where I am taking you, in spite of us all? You say that I have lied to you.If I had not, you would not be even here.Do you want the truth? Here it is.WEHAVE STILL ANOTHER FIVE HOURS' MARCH BEFORE US, AND WE CANNOT GOBACK.Sound yourself; if you have not courage enough, here is my dagger."Startled by this dreadful knowledge of pain and human strength, M.de Montriveau would not be behind a savage; he drew a fresh stock of courage from his pride as a European, rose to his feet, and followed his guide.The five hours were at an end, and still M.de Montriveau saw nothing, he turned his failing eyes upon his guide; but the Nubian hoisted him on his shoulders, and showed him a wide pool of water with greenness all about it, and a noble forest lighted up by the sunset.It lay only a hundred paces away; a vast ledge of granite hid the glorious landscape.It seemed to Armand that he had taken a new lease of life.His guide, that giant in courage and intelligence, finished his work of devotion by carrying him across the hot, slippery, scarcely discernible track on the granite.Behind him lay the hell of burning sand, before him the earthly paradise of the most beautiful oasis in the desert.
The Duchess, struck from the first by the appearance of this romantic figure, was even more impressed when she learned that this was that Marquis de Montriveau of whom she had dreamed during the night.She had been with him among the hot desert sands, he had been the companion of her nightmare wanderings; for such a woman was not this a delightful presage of a new interest in her life? And never was a man's exterior a better exponent of his character; never were curious glances so well justified.The principal characteristic of his great, square-hewn head was the thick, luxuriant black hair which framed his face, and gave him a strikingly close resemblance to General Kleber; and the likeness still held good in the vigorous forehead, in the outlines of his face, the quiet fearlessness of his eyes, and a kind of fiery vehemence expressed by strongly marked features.He was short, deep-chested, and muscular as a lion.There was something of the despot about him, and an indescribable suggestion of the security of strength in his gait, bearing, and slightest movements.He seemed to know that his will was irresistible, perhaps because he wished for nothing unjust.And yet, like all really strong men, he was mild of speech, simple in his manners, and kindly natured;although it seemed as if, in the stress of a great crisis, all these finer qualities must disappear, and the man would show himself implacable, unshaken in his resolve, terrific in action.
