Twelve incense burners, within the circle of red lamps, formed a
second crown, half as large in diameter. Their smoke mounted toward
the vault, invisible in the darkness, but their perfume, combined with
the coolness and sound of the water, banished from the soul all other
desire than to remain there forever.

M. Le Mesge made us sit down in the center of the hall, on the
Cyclopean seats. He seated himself between us.

"In a few minutes," he said, "your eyes will grow accustomed to the
obscurity."

I noticed that he spoke in a hushed voice, as if he were in church.

Little by little, our eyes did indeed grow used to the red light. Only
the lower part of the great hall was illuminated. The whole vault was
drowned in shadow and its height was impossible to estimate. Vaguely,
I could perceive overhead a great smooth gold chandelier, flecked,
like everything else, with sombre red reflections. But there was no
means of judging the length of the chain by which it hung from the
dark ceiling.

The marble of the pavement was of so high a polish, that the great
torches were reflected even there.

This room, I repeat, was round a perfect circle of which the fountain
at our backs was the center.

We sat facing the curving walls. Before long, we began to be able to
see them. They were of peculiar construction, divided into a series
of niches, broken, ahead of us, by the door which had just opened to
give us passage, behind us, by a second door, a still darker hole
which I divined in the darkness when I turned around. From one door to
the other, I counted sixty niches, making, in all, one hundred and
twenty. Each was about ten feet high. Each contained a kind of case,
larger above than below, closed only at the lower end. In all these
cases, except two just opposite me, I thought I could discern a
brilliant shape, a human shape certainly, something like a statue of
very pale bronze. In the arc of the circle before me, I counted
clearly thirty of these strange statues.

What were these statues? I wanted to see. I rose.

M. Le Mesge put his hand on my arm.

"In good time," he murmured in the same low voice, "all in good time."

The Professor was watching the door by which we had entered the hall,
and from behind which we could hear the sound of footsteps becoming
more and more distinct.

It opened quietly to admit three Tuareg slaves. Two of them were
carrying a long package on their shoulders; the third seemed to be
th