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Updated: June 7, 2025
Next day she visited a wonderful garden on the edge of the desert belonging to a Count Anteoni, a recluse who loved the Arabs and spent much of his time among them. There, standing with the count by the garden wall at the hour of the Mohammedan's prayer, she had seen Androvsky again. He was in the desert with a Nomad. The cry of the muezzin went up to the brazen sky.
She looked at the narrow doorway and remembered exactly the attitude in which Count Anteoni had stood during their first interview, holding a trailing branch of the bougainvillea in his hand. She saw him as a shadow that the desert had taken.
There was a flaming of distrust in his eyes, his lips were compressed, and his whole body betokened hostility. "I did not understand. I thought Senor Anteoni would be alone here." "Father Roubier is a pleasant companion, sincere and simple. Everyone likes him." "No doubt, Madame. But the fact is I" he hesitated, then added, almost with violence "I do not care for priests." "I am sorry.
"Ah, Father," said Count Anteoni, going to meet him, while Domini got up from her chair, "it is good of you to come out in the sun to eat fish with such a bad parishioner as I am. Your little companion is welcome." He patted Bous-Bous, who took little notice of him. "You know Miss Enfilden, I think?" continued the Count. "Father Roubier and I meet every day," said Domini, smiling.
The sound of it was plaintive and monotonous. Domini listened to it, and thought of homeless men, of those who had lived and died without ever coming to that open door through which Count Anteoni had entered. His words and the changed look in his face had made a deep impression upon her.
His restless demeanour and lowering expression destroyed all sense of calm and leisure. Count Anteoni looked after him, and then at Domini, with a sort of playful surprise. He was going to speak, but before the words came Smain appeared, carrying reverently a large envelope covered with Arab writing. "Will you excuse me for a moment?" the Count said. "Of course."
She had always been inclined to hate the propagandist since the tragedy in her family. It was a pity Count Anteoni had not indulged his imp in a different fashion. The beauty of the noon seemed spoiled. "Forgive my malice," Count Anteoni said. "It was really a thing of thistledown. Can it be going to do harm? I can scarcely think so." "No, no."
She did not ask herself. Again she sent her gaze further, to the black shapes moving stealthily among the little mounds, to the spirals of smoke rising into the glimmering air. Who guarded those camels? Who fed those distant fires? Who watched beside them? It seemed of vital consequence to her that she should know. Count Anteoni took out his watch and glanced at it.
He sees them going towards the south." Domini leaned forward on the divan, looking at Count Anteoni above the bent body of the Diviner. "By what route?" she whispered. "By the route which the natives call the road to Tombouctou." "But it is my journey!"
The violence of this man surely resembled the violence of Africa. There was something terrible about it, yet also something noble, for it suggested a male power, which might make for either good or evil, but which had nothing to do with littleness. For a moment Count Anteoni and the priest were dwarfed, as if they had come into the presence of a giant. The Arabs handed round fruit.
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