"Yes, indeed; so there is," replied Ahmet, who thought it best to leave his uncle under that impression.
"A river!" began Bruno.
But a sign from his master gave him to understand that the point need not be insisted on.
"No," said Nizib. "It is a—"
He was not permitted to finish his sentence, for a violent blow from his comrade Bruno cut short his explanation, just as he was developing his hydrographical attainments.
Meanwhile Seigneur Kéraban was steadfastly regarding the "river" that barred his way. "It is wide," he said.
"Well, yes—pretty wide—in consequence of a flood most likely," replied Ahmet.
"Floods, you know, owing to the melting of the snow," added Van Mitten, with the laudable intention to back up his young friend.
"Melting of the snow—in September?" said Kéraban, turning upon Van Mitten.
"Certainly; the melting of the snow. The old snow of course, the Caucasian snow," replied Van Mitten, who had not the least idea of what he was saying.
"But I do not see the bridge by which we can cross this river," continued Kéraban.
"The fact is," said Ahmet, "there is no longer a bridge." As he spoke he closed his hands and looked through them, as through a field-glass, the better to examine the mythical bridge over the pretended river.
"They ought to have a bridge here," said Van Mitten. "My 'guide' mentions the existence of a bridge."
"Ah! your guide mentions the bridge, does it?" said Kéraban, frowning as he gazed at the Dutchman.
"Yes, the famous bridge," stammered Van Mitten, "the—the Pontus Euxinus, you know—Pontus Axenos—of the ancients."
"So very ancient," replied Kéraban, and the words came hissing through his set teeth, "so very ancient that it could not resist the flood caused by the melting of the ancient snows."
"From the Caucasus," added Van Mitten, who had come to the end of his imaginative topography.
