"That is all, Lieutenant," finished Chatelain, after a silence. "I
have never seen a sadder meal than that one. The officers hurried
through lunch without a word being spoken, in an atmosphere of
depression against which no one tried to struggle. And in this
complete silence, you could see them always furtively watching the
_City of Naples_, where she was dancing merrily in the breeze, a
league from shore.

"She was still there in the evening when they assembled for dinner,
and it was not until a blast of the whistle, followed by curls of
smoke escaping from the red and black smokestack had announced the
departure of the vessel for Gabes, that conversation was resumed; and
even then, less gaily than usual.

"After that, Lieutenant, at the Officers' Club at Sfax, they avoided
like the plague any subject which risked leading the conversation back
to Captain de Saint-Avit."

Chatelain had spoken almost in a whisper, and the little people of the
desert had not heard this singular history. It was an hour since we
had fired our last cartridge. Around the pool the turtle doves, once
more reassured, were bathing their feathers. Mysterious great birds
were flying under the darkening palm trees. A less warm wind rocked
the trembling black palm branches. We had laid aside our helmets so
that our temples could welcome the touch of the feeble breeze.

"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