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Updated: May 20, 2025
He held out his hand, but Androvsky bowed hastily and awkwardly and did not seem to see it. Domini glanced at Count Anteoni, and surprised a piercing expression in his bright eyes. It died away at once, and he said: "Let us go to the salle-a-manger. Dejeuner will be ready, Miss Enfilden."
As Domini and Androvsky rode into this whirlpool of humanity, above which the sky was red like a great wound, it flowed and eddied round them, making them its centre. The arrival of a stranger-woman was a rare, if not an unparalleled, event in Amara, and Batouch had been very busy in spreading the fame of his mistress. "Madame should dismount," said Batouch.
"Oh! yes, I do remember." "Well, I am going to obey you. I am going to make a journey." "Into the desert?" "Three hundred kilometers on horseback. I start to-morrow." She looked up at him with a new interest. He saw it and laughed, almost like a boy. "Ah, your contempt for me is dying!" "How can you speak of contempt?" "But you were full of it." He turned to Androvsky.
A stream of light poured into the oasis, and Domini, who had paused for a moment in silent worship, went on swiftly through the negro village which was all astir, and down the track to the white villa. She did not glance round again to see whether Androvsky was still following her, for, since the sun had come, she had the confident sensation that he was no longer near.
This evening, when I was sitting under the tower, even I" and as she said "even I" she smiled happily at Androvsky "knew some forebodings." "Forebodings?" Androvsky said quickly. "Why should you ?" He broke off. "Not of coming misfortune, I hope, Madame?" said De Trevignac in a voice that was now irresistibly cheerful.
And the desert, which she had so loved, was no longer to her the desert, sand with a soul in it, blue distances full of a music of summons, but only a barren waste of dried-up matter, featureless, desolate, ghastly with the bones of things that had died. She rode back with Androvsky to Beni-Mora in a silence like that of death. But this parting, decreed by the man, was not to be.
"I am afraid I have called at a very unorthodox time," he remarked, looking at his watch; "but the fact is that here in Amara we " "I hope you will stay to dejeuner," Androvsky said. "It is very good of you. If you are certain that I shall not put you out." "Please stay." "I will, then, with pleasure."
In a postscript was an address which would always find her. Count Anteoni read this letter two or three times carefully, with a grave face. "Why did she not put Domini Androvsky?" he said to himself. He locked the letter in a drawer. All that night he was haunted by thoughts of the garden.
As she looked she saw Androvsky raise his arms from the saddle peak, catch at the flying rein, draw it up, lean against the saddle back and pull with all his force. The horse stopped dead. "His strength must be enormous," Domini thought with a startled admiration. She pulled up too on the bank above him and gave a halloo.
And when she listened, standing still, a feeling of awe came upon her, and she knew that she had never heard such a strangely impressive, strangely suggestive sound before. "What is that?" she said. She looked at Androvsky. "I don't know, Madame. It must be people." "But what can they be doing?" "They are praying in the mosque where Sidi-Zerzour is buried," said Mustapha.
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