He
spoke again.

"I wonder what those two can have to say to each other."

He might have been asking that of the whole darkened part of the globe,
but it was d'Alcacer who answered in his courteous tones.

"Would it surprise you very much, Captain Lingard, if I were to tell you
that those two people are quite fit to understand each other thoroughly?
Yes? It surprises you! Well, I assure you that seven thousand miles from
here nobody would wonder."

"I think I understand," said Lingard, "but don't you know the man is
light-headed? A man like that is as good as mad."

"Yes, he had been slightly delirious since seven o'clock," said
d'Alcacer. "But believe me, Captain Lingard," he continued, earnestly,
and obeying a perfectly disinterested impulse, "that even in his
delirium he is far more understandable to her and better able to
understand her than . . . anybody within a hundred miles from here."

"Ah!" said Lingard without any emotion, "so you don't wonder. You don't
see any reason for wonder."

"No, for, don't you see, I do know."

"What do you know?"

"Men and women, Captain Lingard, which you. . . ."

"I don't know any woman."

"You have spoken the strictest truth there," said d'Alcacer, and for the
first time Lingard turned his head slowly and looked at his neighbour on
the bench.

"Do you think she is as good as mad, too?" asked Lingard in a startled
voice.

D'Alcacer let escape a low exclamation. No, certainly he did not think
so. It was an original notion to suppose that lunatics had a sort of
common logic which made them understandable to each other. D'Alcacer
tried to make his voice as gentle as possible while he pursued: "No,
Captain Lingard, I believe the woman of whom we speak is and will always
remain in the fullest possession of herself."

Lingard, leaning back, clasped his hands round his knees. He seemed
not to be listening and d'Alcacer, pulling a cigarette case out of his
pocket, looked for a long time at the three cigarettes it contained. It
was the last of the provision he had on him when captured. D'Alcacer
had put himself on the strictest allowance. A cigarette was only to be
lighted on special occasions; and now there were only three left and
they had to be made to last till the end of life. They calmed, they
soothed, they gave an attitude. And only three left! One had to be
kept for the morning, to be lighted before going through the gate of
doom--the gate of Belarab's stockade.