As beautiful as you are, Madame, you are not so beautiful as our lives; and the brave deeds that lie before us illuminate our paths like stars.”

Then, elated by the night and the ease with which words came, I declaimed, thinking that I could see in the past a reflection of the brave deeds that awaited us:

“Oh! Oh, Madame, if only you knew about the missions and cavalcades of our youth: majestic hunts in the forest; glorious deliverances and the return, in the evening, along the same path and through the dust; and the joy of having accomplished our day’s task! And our exhaustion, Madame, and our sad appearance! How serious our lives! And how we bestrode the mountain as the sun sank and shadows claimed the valley; sometimes we felt that we were about to catch our chimeras, and our hearts fluttered with happiness!…

The queen kept looking at me, the trace of a smile in her eyes, and asking:

“Is that true?”

But I was so convinced that I said to her:

“Oh, yes, Madame.”

As the moon moved onward I cried out:

“I am so sad for her because of her pallor.”

Then the queen spoke up:

“What does it matter to you?” she asked. And suddenly the aptness of her question forced me to agree.

And thus the days passed, given over to excursions or festivities.

One evening the queen had playfully dropped a ring from one of her fingers into the deep sea. It was not an expensive ring but had been given to her, like all her rings, by Camaralzaman, her husband. It was old and had an aventurine set in a bezel supported by plaited strands of pale gold. It could still be seen when plants changed their position on the blue sand where pink anemones glistened, pensive and bewildered. Clarion, Agloval and Morgain equipped themselves for diving and descended; I did not follow them—not because I was too bored but because I was too anxious, for the mysterious depths of the sea had always attracted me. They remained underwater for a long time; as soon as they surfaced I questioned them, but they fell into a deep sleep, and when they were awakened they seemed to remember nothing, or to be unwilling to answer me.

“It was so dark all around me that I could see nothing,” said Angloval.

“A paralyzing torpor overpowered my thoughts,” said Clarion, “and then I could think only of the relucent sleep that one would sleep in this fresh water, lying on the soft algae.”

Morgain remained silent and sad, and when I begged him to relate what he had seen, he replied that even if he so willed, he could not find the right words.

Then came new festivities, decorative lights and dances; in this way still other days passed, and we were tormented by the feeling that our superb lives were being wasted on trivial occupations.

We thought of the ship, and we began to evolve a plan of escape. Before the palace stretched the plain, and the open shore curved inward; one could clearly see that the Orion was not there on the vast sea. But on the other side of the palace must lie other beaches; the Orion must be there. The high walls of the last terraces jutted out into the sea as if to block its approach; secret paths must lead out to it, but only the queen knew where they were. One night when the sea was so low that it withdrew from the base of the walls, Ydier, Hélain, Nathanael and I set out secretly in search of the ship.

It was still twilight, but there were no longer any sounds. We passed beyond the terraces and found ourselves behind the town; long walls fronted on a small strip of sand onto which gutters spilled their offensive smells. We hastened because of the approaching sea and night, but we thought we might be able to return by another route if the tide should block this one. After the walls came low banks of clay; the space that separated them from the water became narrower and narrower, and the waves finally soaked their base. We stopped, uncertain, to determine what the sea was doing. But the tide was not yet rising; stepping on rocks that jutted out of the water, we continued our search. A promontory came into view; we thought we could see a beach in the distance. Our feet slid over soft plants; gray, crepuscular water, barely distinguishable, splashed feebly between the rocks; uneasiness gripped us, so indeterminate was this water…And suddenly the bank came to an end; fear surged through our hearts, for we sensed the ship was there. The night was allembracing. Noiselessly we moved onward a few steps and then, leaning against the last rock, we looked.

The moon was rising over an immense strand; the blue sands shifted, undulated. On the water floated a whole fleet, formidable, vaporous, strange; we dared not proceed. Mysterious shapes passed by; everything seemed to us so fanciful, so uncertain that we fled, gripped by piteous fear; we were guided and bewildered by the moon that rose above the strand and cast our distorted shadows on the rocks and water in front of us.

Our deliverance came about in a most tragic manner. Appearing and spreading throughout the town, but mildly at first, was the horrible and lamentable plague that later ravaged the island, leaving it as forlorn as an immense desert. It was already interfering with the festivities.

… In the morning the fresh juices that we drank on the terraces, the fruits, and the glasses of cold water after walks in the sunshine; and in the evening, worn out by the excitement of the long day, iced lemonade under the trees in the perfumed gardens that led down to the sea; everything—excessively warm baths and idle musings in the presence of the insidious garments of the women—would soon have induced languor, the first symptom of the plague, if the fear of excessive suffering had not prejudiced us against so many pleasures. We resisted smiles, nocturnal entreaties, the desire for satisfying fruits, shadows in the gardens, music; we even stopped singing for fear of growing faint; but in the morning before sunrise we would walk down the beach, immerse our naked bodies in the wholesome water, and draw new strength and comfort from the sea and the air.

Filth deposited in hidden sewers and wash-houses by slovenly townspeople sent up a pestilential exhalation in the evening; and these paludal vapors carried deadly germs. The sailors and the women felt them in their flesh; it was a nascent uneasiness; they used balms to rinse out their mouths and the heavy scent of aromatic oils blended with their hot breath.

That evening even their dances were subdued. Never had the winds been milder; the waves sang and each soul was enchanted by its body. All of their bodies, as beautiful as marble statues, glistened in the shadows; they sought out each other for embraces, but their desire was not sated; their fever was intensified by their embraces; each added the other’s ardor to his own. Their kisses were bites; wherever their hands touched, they bled.

All night long they depleted themselves through their false embraces, but morning bathed them in a new dawn; then they went toward the fountains to cleanse their tainted tunics. There, new festivities began; light-headed, they laughed from weariness, and their bursts of laughter echoed through their empty heads.