almost liked the painfulness of it. At last his companion had got into
the habit of looking up at him whenever he cried in a falsetto voice,
"Mignonne."

At the setting of the sun Mignonne gave, several times running, a
profound melancholy cry. "She's been well brought up," said the
lighthearted soldier; "she says her prayers." But this mental joke
only occurred to him when he noticed what a pacific attitude his
companion remained in. "Come, ma petite blonde, I'll let you go to bed
first," he said to her, counting on the activity of his own legs to
run away as quickly as possible, directly she was asleep, and seek
another shelter for the night.

The soldier waited with impatience the hour of his flight, and when it
had arrived he walked vigorously in the direction of the Nile; but
hardly had he made a quarter of a league in the sand when he heard the
panther bounding after him, crying with that saw-like cry more
dreadful even than the sound of her leaping.

"Ah!" he said, "then she's taken a fancy to me, she has never met
anyone before, and it is really quite flattering to have her first
love." That instant the man fell into one of those movable quicksands
so terrible to travelers and from which it is impossible to save
oneself. Feeling himself caught, he gave a shriek of alarm; the
panther seized him with her teeth by the collar, and, springing
vigorously backwards, drew him as if by magic out of the whirling
sand.

"Ah, Mignonne!" cried the soldier, caressing her enthusiastically;
"we're bound together for life and death but no jokes, mind!" and he