Atlantida

"Villefranche."

"Villefranche, Rhône. What date?"

"The fourteenth of October, 1859."

"The fourteenth of October, 1859. Good. Died at Ahaggar, the fifth of

January, 1897.... There, that is done. A thousand thanks, sir, for

your kindness."

"You are welcome."

I left M. Le Mesge.

My mind, thenceforth, was well made up; and, as I said, I was

perfectly calm. Nevertheless, when I had taken leave of M. Le Mesge, I

felt the need of waiting a few minutes before executing my decision.

First I wandered through the corridors; then, finding myself near my

room, I went to it. It was still intolerably hot. I sat down on my

divan and began to think.

The dagger in my pocket bothered me. I took it out and laid it on the

floor.

It was a good dagger, with a diamond-shaped blade, and with a collar

of orange leather between the blade and the handle.

The sight of it recalled the silver hammer. I remembered how easily it

fitted into my hand when I struck....

Every detail of the scene came back to me with incomparable vividness.

But I did not even shiver. It seemed as if my determination to kill

the instigator of the murder permitted me peacefully to evoke its

brutal details.

If I reflected over my deed, it was to be surprised at it, not to

condemn myself.

"Well," I said to myself, "I have killed this Morhange, who was once a

baby, who, like all the others, cost his mother so much trouble with

his baby sicknesses. I have put an end to his life, I have reduced to

nothingness the monument of love, of tears, of trials overcome and

pitfalls escaped, which constitutes a human existence. What an

extraordinary adventure!"

That was all. No fear, no remorse, none of that Shakespearean horror

after the murder, which, today, sceptic though I am and blasé and

utterly, utterly disillusioned, sets me shuddering whenever I am alone

in a dark room.

"Come," I thought. "It's time. Time to finish it up."

I picked up the dagger. Before putting it in my pocket, I went through

the motion of striking. All was well. The dagger fitted into my hand.

I had been through Antinea's apartment only when guided, the first

time by the white Targa, the second time, by the leopard. Yet I found

the way again without trouble. Just before coming to the door with the

rose window, I met a Targa.

"Let me pass," I ordered. "Your mistress has sent for me." The man

obeyed, stepping back.

Soon a dim melody came to my ears. I recognized the sound of a

rebaza, the violin with a single string, played by the Tuareg women.

It was Aguida playing, squatting as usual at the feet of her mistress.

The three other women were also squatted about her. Tanit-Zerga was

not there.