"She condescended to explain further: 'Le Mesge is a learned gentleman whom I find useful. He knows Spanish and Italian, keeps my papers in order, and is busy working out my genealogy. The Reverend Spardek knows English and German. Count Bielowsky is thoroughly conversant with the Slavic languages. Besides, I love him like a father. He knew me as a child when I had not dreamed such stupid things as you know of me. They are indispensable to me in my relations with visitors of different races, although I am beginning to get along well enough in the languages which I need.... But I am talking a great deal, and this is the first time that I have ever explained my conduct. Your friend is not so curious.' With that, she dismissed me. A strange woman indeed. I think there is a bit of Renan in her but she is cleverer than that master of sensualism." "Gentlemen," said Le Mesge, suddenly entering the room, "why are you so late? They are waiting dinner for you." The little Professor was in a particularly good humor that evening. He wore a new violet rosette. "Well?" he said, in a mocking tone, "you have seen her?" Neither Morhange nor I replied. The Reverend Spardek and the Hetmari of Jitomir already had begun eating when we arrived. The setting sun threw raspberry lights on the cream-colored mat. "Be seated, gentlemen," said Le Mesge noisily. "Lieutenant de Saint-Avit, you were not with us last evening. You are about to taste the cooking of Koukou, our Bambara chef, for the first time. You must give me your opinion of it." A Negro waiter set before me a superb fish covered with a pimento sauce as red as tomatoes. I have explained that I was ravenously hungry. The dish was exquisite. The sauce immediately made me thirsty. "White Ahaggar, 1879," the Herman of Jitomir breathed in my ear as he filled my goblet with a clear topaz liquid. "I developed it myself: _rien pour la tête, tout pour les jambes_." I emptied the goblet at a gulp. The company began to seem charming. "Well, Captain Morhange," Le Mesge called out to my comrade who had taken a mouthful of fish, "what do you say to this acanthopterygian? It was caught to-day in the lake in the oasis. Do you begin to admit the hypothesis of the Saharan sea?" "The fish is an argument," my companion replied. Suddenly he became silent. The door had opened. A white Targa entered. The diners stopped talking. The veiled man walked slowly toward Morhange and touched his right arm. "Very well," said Morhange. He got up and followed the messenger. The pitcher of Ahaggar, 1879, stood between me and Count Bielowsky. I filled my goblet--a goblet which held a pint, and gulped it down. The Hetman looked at me sympathetically. "Ha, ha!" laughed Le Mesge, nudging me with his elbow. "Antinea has respect for the hierarchic order." The Reverend Spardek smiled modestly. "Ha, ha!" laughed Le Mesge again.