s, oranges, and many others which I could
not distinguish from that height. A broad blue stream, fed by a
waterfall, emptied into a charming lake, the waters of which had the
marvellous transparency which comes in high altitudes. Great birds
flew in circles over this green hollow; I could see in the lake the
red flash of a flamingo.

The peaks of the mountains which towered on all sides were completely
covered with snow.

The blue stream, the green palms, the golden fruit, and above it all,
the miraculous snow, all this bathed in that limpid air, gave such an
impression of beauty, of purity, that my poor human strength could no
longer stand the sight of it. I laid my forehead on the balustrade,
which, too, was covered with that heavenly snow, and began to cry like
a baby.

Morhange was behaving like another child. But he had awakened before I
had, and doubtless had had time to grasp, one by one, all these
details whose fantastic _ensemble_ staggered me.

He laid his hand on my shoulder and gently pulled me back into the
room.

"You haven't seen anything yet," he said. "Look! Look!"

"Morhange!"

"Well, old man, what do you want me to do about it? Look!"

I had just realized that the strange room was furnished--God forgive
me--in the European fashion. There were indeed, here and there, round
leather Tuareg cushions, brightly colored blankets from Gafsa, rugs
from Kairouan, and Caramani hangings which, at that moment, I should
have dreaded to draw aside. But a half-open panel in the wall showed a
bookcase crowded with books. A whole row of photographs of
masterpieces of ancient art were hung on the walls. Finally there was
a table almost hidden under its heap of papers, pamphlets, books. I
thought I should collapse at seeing a recent number of the
_Archaeological Review_.

I looked at Morhange. He was looking at me, and suddenly a mad laugh
seized us and doubled us up for a good minute.

"I do not know," Morhange finally managed to say, "whether or not we
shall regret some day our little excursion into Ahaggar. But admit, in
the meantime, that it promises to be rich in unexpected adventures.
That unforgettable guide who puts us to sleep just to distract us
from the unpleasantness of caravan life and who lets me experience, in
the best of good faith, the far-famed delights of hasheesh: that
fantastic night ride, and, to cap the climax, this cave of a Nureddin
who must have received the education of the Atheni