his guide by some thread like the invisible tie
between the condemned man and the headsman. But the two hours went by,
Montriveau had spent his last drops of energy, and the skyline was a
blank, there were no palm-trees, no hills. He could neither cry out
nor groan, he lay down on the sand to die, but his eyes would have
frightened the boldest; something in his face seemed to say that he
would not die alone. His guide, like a very fiend, gave him back a cool
glance like a man that knows his power, left him to lie there, and kept
at a safe distance out of reach of his desperate victim. At last M.
Montriveau recovered strength enough for a last curse. The guide came
nearer, silenced him with a steady look, and said, "Was it not your own
will to go where I am taking you, in spite of us all? You say that I
have lied to you. If I had not, you would not be even here. Do you want
the truth? Here it is. _We have still another five hours' march before
us, and we cannot go back_. Sound yourself; if you have not courage
enough, here is my dagger."

Startled by this dreadful knowledge of pain and human strength, M.
de Montriveau would not be behind a savage; he drew a fresh stock of
courage from his pride as a European, rose to his feet, and followed
his guide. The five hours were at an end, and still M. de Montriveau
saw nothing, he turned his failing eyes upon his guide; but the Nubian
hoisted him on his shoulders, and showed him a wide pool of water with
greenness all about it, and a noble forest lighted up by the sunset. It
lay only a hundred paces away; a vast ledge of granite hid the glorious
landscape. It seemed to Armand that he had taken a new lease of life.
His guide, that giant in courage and intelligence, finished his work of
devotion by carrying him across the hot, slippery, scarcely discernible
track on the granite. Behind him lay the hell of burning sand, before
him the earthly paradise of the most beautiful oasis in the desert.

The Duchess, struck from the first by the appearance of this romantic
figure, was even more impressed when she learned that this was that
Marquis de Montriveau of whom she had dreamed during the night. She had
been with him among the hot desert sands, he had been the companion of
her nightmare wanderings; for such a woman was not this a delightful
presage of a new interest in her life? And never was a man's exterior
a better exponent of his character; never were curious glances so well
just