Fatou could never catch sight of a n’gabou (hippopotamus) without running the risk of falling down stone dead. This was a kind of spell cast upon her family by a sorcerer from the country of Galam, and all methods of breaking it had been tried in vain. There were numerous instances among her ancestry of persons who had thus fallen down stone dead at the mere sight of these great beasts, and this curse had pursued the family relentlessly for several generations. For this is a kind of spell that is fairly common in the Soudan. Some families cannot endure the sight of a lion; others that of a sea-cow; others—these are the most unfortunate—that of an alligator. And it is an additional affliction that in these cases even amulets are of no avail. One can imagine the precautions that Fatou’s ancestors were obliged to take in the land of Galam—they had to refrain from country walks at times when the hippopotamuses chose to be abroad, and especially to keep away from the great grassy swamps where these monsters delighted to sport. As for Fatou, when she heard that there was a young tame hippopotamus living in a house in St Louis, she always went far out of her way to avoid passing through this quarter of the town, for fear of succumbing to a terrible, consuming curiosity to look upon the countenance of this beast, which she persuaded her friends to describe to her in minute detail each day—a curiosity which, as will be readily divined, was likewise connected with the spell. XII The time passed slowly in monotony and heat. All days were alike—the same routine of duty at the spahis’ barracks; the same sun beating down on the white walls; the same all-pervading silence. There were rumours of war against Boubakar-Ségou, the son of El Hadj, which gave the men in red something to talk about, but went no further. Nothing ever happened in the dead-alive town; tidings of Europe came from afar, as if blurred by the heat. Jean was passing through various moral phases; he had his moods of exaltation and of depression. As a rule he was conscious only of a vague sensation of boredom, a weariness of things in general; then, from time to time home-sickness, which seemed dormant in his heart, would overwhelm him again and make him unhappy. The winter season drew near; the breakers off the coast were calmer, and there were already breathless days, when the surface of the warm sea lay smooth and shining like oil, reflecting in its vast mirror the strong, torrid light. * * * * * Was Jean in love with Fatou-gaye? He himself hardly knew, poor fellow. He looked upon her, however, as an inferior being on the same level, perhaps, as his yellow dog. He did not trouble to try to fathom what there might be in the depths of that little black soul—a soul as black as its outer Khassonké covering.