From the telegraph office, the whole party proceeded to the French Consulate, where each one found his or her expected letter. Even M. de Morin's valet had a missive or two, addressed to Mohammed-Abd-el-Gazal, dragoman, but Joseph, after his misadventures in El-Hejaz, had renounced all claim to this style and title. He loathed the Bedouins as much as he had formerly loved them, and he at once, without reading it, tore up the letter addressed to him by his former instructor in Arabic. Amongst their correspondence, MM. de Morin, Périères, and Delange found a letter from M. de Pommerelle, addressed to all three of them, and together they perused the latest news from their beloved city. The very paper had a perfume of Paris, wafted to them through space into the centre of Africa, and was, in itself, a source of enjoyment. "You are angels!", wrote M. de Pommerelle. "Forgive my former abuse, for I am heart-broken at the idea of having written a harsh word to such friends as you. I thank you a thousand times for your letters, and the records of your travel. As yet I have only read Périères, but I feel that de Morin and Delange are on their way to me. I put implicit faith in their promises, and I am revelling in a foretaste of their narrations. "If you only knew with what delight I welcome the arrival of the post from Egypt! Do not, however, imagine that I am selfish enough to reserve to myself the pleasure of living with you. No—I share that with another of my friends, and there are two of us to read you. Read you, did I say? We spell you, syllable by syllable, and follow you step by step on the maps which are hung in every corner of my room. "I need hardly tell you the name of this friend, for you must have guessed it already—it is the trusty Doctor Desrioux, who longed to accompany you, and whom duty alone retained in France. I only knew him slightly before—knew him as a genial, charming companion, sincere and worthy of all respect. The wish to talk about you, and to amuse ourselves with your interesting trip has drawn us together, and now we are inseparable. "'Where are they?' says the Doctor. 'At Berber, I suppose.' 'No,' I reply, 'I know de Morin, he is an eccentric genius; by this time he has involved them in some fresh scrape, and they are still far from the Nile.' 'Perhaps you are right,' answers the Doctor. 'Let us find the exact spot where they halted last.' Behold us, armed with our eye-glasses, bending over the maps and on the road with you.