He stepped back and I saw his dark eyes gleam. "Why?" he said. "Yes, why?" He replied with dignity: "The Prophet permits every just man, once in his lifetime, to let pity take the place of duty. Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh is turning this permission to the advantage of one who saved his life." "And you are not afraid," I asked, "that I will disclose the secret of Antinea if I return among Frenchmen?" He shook his head. "I am not afraid of that," he said, and his voice was full of irony. "It is not to your interest that Frenchmen should know how the Captain met his death." I was horrified at this logical reply. "Perhaps I am doing wrong," the Targa went on, "in not killing the little one.... But she loves you. She will not talk. Now go. Day is coming." I tried to press the hand of this strange rescuer, but he again drew back. "Do not thank me. What I am doing, I do to acquire merit in the eyes of God. You may be sure that I shall never do it again neither for you nor for anyone else." And, as I made a gesture to reassure him on that point, "Do not protest," he said in a tone the mockery of which still sounds in my ears. "Do not protest. What I am doing is of value to me, but not to you." I looked at him uncomprehendingly. "Not to you, Sidi Lieutenant, not to you," his grave voice continued. "For you will come back; and when that day comes, do not count on the help of Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh." "I will come back?" I asked, shuddering. "You will come back," the Targa replied. He was standing erect, a black statue against the wall of gray rock. "You will come back," he repeated with emphasis. "You are fleeing now, but you are mistaken if you think that you will look at the world with the same eyes as before. Henceforth, one idea, will follow you everywhere you go; and in one year, five, perhaps ten years, you will pass again through the corridor through which you have just come." "Be still, Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh," said the trembling voice of Tanit-Zerga. "Be still yourself, miserable little fly," said Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh. He sneered. "The little one is afraid because she knows that I tell the truth. She knows the story of Lieutenant Ghiberti." "Lieutenant Ghiberti?" I said, the sweat standing out on my forehead. "He was an Italian officer whom I met between Rhât and Rhadamès eight years ago. He did not believe that love of Antinea could make him forget all else that life contained. He tried to escape, and he succeeded. I do not know how, for I did not help him. He went back to his country. But hear what happened: two years later, to the very day, when I was leaving the look-out, I discovered a miserable tattered creature, half dead from hunger and fatigue, searching in vain for the entrance to the northern barrier. It was Lieutenant Ghiberti, come back. He fills niche Number 39 in the red marble hall." The Targa smiled slightly. "That is the story of Lieutenant Ghiberti which you wished to hear. But enough of this. Mount your camel."