“Ah! how stupid! I forgot,” said Servadac, with the slightest possible shrug of the shoulders; “we have not been introduced.”
Then, with a wave of his hand towards his companion, who meanwhile had exhibited a reserve hardly less than that of the British officers, he said:
“Allow me to introduce you to Count Wassili Timascheff.”
” Major Sir John Temple Oliphant,” replied the colonel.
The Russian and the Englishman mutually exchanged the stiffest of bows.
“I have the pleasure of introducing Captain Servadac,” said the count in his turn.
“And this is Colonel Heneage Finch Murphy,” was the major’s grave rejoinder.
More bows were interchanged and the ceremony brought to its due conclusion. It need hardly be said that the conversation had been carried on in French, a language which is generally known both by Russians and Englishmen— a circumstance that is probably in some measure to be accounted for by the refusal of Frenchmen to learn either Russian or English.
The formal preliminaries of etiquette being thus complete, there was no longer any obstacle to a freer intercourse. The colonel, signing to his guests to follow, led the way to the apartment occupied jointly by himself and the major, which, although only a kind of casemate hollowed in the rock, nevertheless wore a general air of comfort. Major Oliphant accompanied them, and all four having taken their seats, the conversation was commenced.
Irritated and disgusted at all the cold formalities, Hector Servadac resolved to leave all the talking to the count; and he, quite aware that the Englishmen would adhere to the fiction that they could be supposed to know nothing that had transpired previous to the introduction felt himself obliged to recapitulate matters from the very beginning.
“You must be aware, gentlemen,” began the count, “that a most singular catastrophe occurred on the 1st of January last. Its cause, its limits we have utterly failed to discover, but from the appearance of the island on which we find you here, you have evidently experienced its devastating consequences.”
The Englishmen, in silence, bowed assent.
“Captain Servadac, who accompanies me,” continued the count, “has been most severely tried by the disaster. Engaged as he was in an important mission as a staff-officer in Algeria—”
“A French colony, I believe,” interposed Major Oliphant, half shutting his eyes with an expression of supreme indifference.
Servadac was on the point of making some cutting retort, but Count Timascheff, without allowing the interruption to be noticed, calmly continued his narrative:
“It was near the mouth of the Shelif that a portion of Africa, on that eventful night, was transformed into an island which alone survived; the rest of the vast continent disappeared as completely as if it had never been.”
The announcement seemed by no means startling to the phlegmatic colonel.
“Indeed!” was all he said.
“And where were you?” asked Major Oliphant.
“I was out at sea, cruising in my yacht; hard by; and I look upon it as a miracle, and nothing less, that I and my crew escaped with our lives.”
“I congratulate you on your luck,” replied the major.
The count resumed: “It was about a month after the great disruption that I was sailing—my engine having sustained some damage in the shock— along the Algerian coast, and had the pleasure of meeting with my previous acquaintance, Captain Servadac, who was resident upon the island with his orderly, Ben Zoof.”
“Ben who?” inquired the major.
“Zoof! Ben Zoof!” ejaculated Servadac, who could scarcely shout loud enough to relieve his pent-up feelings.
Ignoring this ebullition of the captain’s spleen, the count went on to say: “Captain Servadac was naturally most anxious to get what news he could. Accordingly, he left his servant on the island in charge of his horses, and came on board the Dobryna with me. We were quite at a loss to know where we should steer, but decided to direct our course to what previously had been the east, in order that we might, if possible, discover the colony of Algeria; but of Algeria not a trace remained.”
The colonel curled his lip, insinuating only too plainly that to him it was by no means surprising that a French colony should be wanting in the element of stability. Servadac observed the supercilious look, and half rose to his feet, but, smothering his resentment, took his seat again without speaking.