Before setting out on his expedition to the slave-merchant and the Almehs, the Doctor asked M. de Morin to go with him, but the invitation was declined with thanks. The young painter, as we have before remarked, had not for some time past been in the humour to partake of any pleasure that Khartoum could offer him. None of the curious sights of the place had any charms for him, and he did not take the slightest interest in unravelling those mysteries which M. Delange, for the purpose of cheering him up and rousing him from his apathy, from time to time described. On the evening when his friend made this latest suggestion to him, he was less disposed than ever to listen. For several days past he had had recourse to the favourite device of lovers—avoiding the beloved one, abstaining from paying her any visits, giving no sign of existence, waiting to be summoned. But Madame de Guéran did not appear to notice his disappearance, and pursued the even tenor of her way, just as if he had no existence so far as she was concerned. How could she have become so completely indifferent to what became of him? She was not bound to love him, he was quite aware of that, and she had a perfect right to prefer somebody else. But, at the same time, had she any right to carry to such an extreme her indifference for the man who had sacrificed everything to accompany her, and to share her fatigues and her dangers? Surely, even as a mere travelling companion he was worth the display of a little interest. Nay, more, in defiance of all her promises she was already displaying her preference for M. Périères! She had not even waited until the journey should be more advanced, but at the very first stage of any importance, in the first town where she had stayed for any time, she threw aside all reserve, made no secret of her choice, and, whilst opening her heart to one admirer, banished the other for ever and a day! Ought she not, at all events, to have frankly sent for him, told him how the case stood, and offered him his liberty? Or did she think that on their present terms he was going with her to the very heart of Africa, the end of the world, perhaps, to watch over her and the man she loved, to shield them from every danger, to save their precious lives, and with them to return to Paris to be present at their marriage, after having been a witness to their protracted love-making! No, a thousand times, no! he would leave her, flee from her, return to France, to Paris, forget her, plunge into the vortex of pleasure, stifle his passion, and harden his heart so as never to suffer for another what he had gone through for her.