ervant's good qualities, Captain Servadac
endured with imperturbable good humor those idiosyncrasies, which in
a less faithful follower would have been intolerable, and from time
to time he would drop a word of sympathy that served to deepen his
subordinate's devotion.

On one occasion, when Ben Zoof had mounted his hobby-horse, and
was indulging in high-flown praises about his beloved eighteenth
arrondissement, the captain had remarked gravely, "Do you know, Ben
Zoof, that Montmartre only requires a matter of some thirteen thousand
feet to make it as high as Mont Blanc?"

Ben Zoof's eyes glistened with delight; and from that moment Hector
Servadac and Montmartre held equal places in his affection.

CHAPTER III. INTERRUPTED EFFUSIONS

Composed of mud and loose stones, and covered with a thatch of turf and
straw, known to the natives by the name of "driss," the gourbi, though a
grade better than the tents of the nomad Arabs, was yet far inferior
to any habitation built of brick or stone. It adjoined an old stone
hostelry, previously occupied by a detachment of engineers, and which
now afforded shelter for Ben Zoof and the two horses. It still
contained a considerable number of tools, such as mattocks, shovels, and
pick-axes.

Uncomfortable as was their temporary abode, Servadac and his attendant
made no complaints; neither of them was dainty in the matter either of
board or lodging. After dinner, leaving his orderly to stow away the
remains of the repast in what he was pleased to term the "cupboard of
his stomach." Captain Servadac turned out into the open air to smoke his
pipe upon the edge of the cliff. The shades of night were drawing on.
An hour previously, veiled in heavy clouds, the sun had sunk below the
horizon that bounded the plain beyond the Shelif.

The sky presented a most singular appearance. Towards the north,
although the darkness rendered it impossible to see beyond a quarter
of a mile, the upper strata of the atmosphere were suffused with a
rosy glare. No well-defined fringe of light, nor arch of luminous rays,
betokened a display of aurora borealis, even had such a phenomenon been
possible in these latitudes; and the most experienced meteorologist
would have been puzzled to explain the cause of this striking
illumination on this 31st of December, the last evening of the passing
year.

But Captain Servadac was no meteorologist, and it is to be doubted
whether, since leaving school, he had