We rode for two hours. I did not exchange a word with Morhange. I had
a clear intuition of the folly we were committing in risking ourselves
so unconcernedly in that least known and most dangerous part of the
Sahara. Every blow which had been struck in the last twenty years to
undermine the French advance had come from this redoubtable Ahaggar.
But what of it? It was of my own will that I had joined in this mad
scheme. No need of going over it again. What was the use of spoiling
my action by a continual exhibition of disapproval? And, furthermore,
I may as well admit that I rather liked the turn that our trip was
beginning to take. I had, at that instant, the sensation of journeying
toward something incredible, toward some tremendous adventure. You do
not live with impunity for months and years as the guest of the
desert. Sooner or later, it has its way with you, annihilates the good
officer, the timid executive, overthrows his solicitude for his
responsibilities. What is there behind those mysterious rocks, those
dim solitudes, which have held at bay the most illustrious pursuers of
mystery? You follow, I tell you, you follow.

* * * * *

"Are you sure at least that this inscription is interesting enough to
justify us in our undertaking?" I asked Morhange.

My companion started with pleasure. Ever since we began our journey I
had realized his fear that I was coming along half-heartedly. As soon
as I offered him a chance to convince me, his scruples vanished, and
his triumph seemed assured to him.

"Never," he answered, in a voice that he tried to control, but through