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Updated: June 7, 2025
She thought of the garden of Count Anteoni, and of herself kneeling on the hot sand with her arms on the white parapet and gazing out over the regions of the sun, of her dream upon the tower, of her vision when Irena danced. He was there, part of the noon, part of the twilight, chief surely of the worshippers who swept on in the pale procession that received gifts from the desert's hands.
That lie, not even told to her and about so slight a matter, seemed to her an attack which she resented and must return. Not for a moment did she ask herself if she were reasonable. A voice within her said, "I will not be lied to, I will not even bear a lie told to another in my presence by this man." And the voice was imperious. Count Anteoni remained beside her, smoking a cigar.
When we ask him he is coming here again to see us both together." Androvsky got up from his chair. His face was troubled. Standing before Domini, he said: "Count Anteoni is happy then, now that he now that he has joined this religion?" "Very happy." "And you a Catholic what do you think?" "I think that, since that is his honest belief, it is a blessed thing for him."
She did not argue with herself about the matter. She only knew that she wished, that presently she meant Androvsky to pass through the white gate and be met on the sand by Smain with his rose. One day Count Anteoni had asked her whether she had made acquaintance with the man who had fled from prayer. "Yes," she said. "You know it." "How?" "We have ridden to Sidi-Zerzour."
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."
She longed for action, swiftness, excitement, the help of outside things, of that exterior life which she had told Count Anteoni she had begun to see as a mirage. Had she been in a city she would have gone to a theatre to witness some tremendous drama, or to hear some passionate or terrible opera.
Domini saw that the interest of Count Anteoni in his guest was suddenly and vitally aroused by what he had just said, perhaps even more by his peculiar way of saying it, as if it were forced from him by some secret, irresistible compulsion. And the Count's interest seemed to take hands with her interest, which had had a much longer existence.
And she longed to make some great offering at the altar on whose lowest step she stood, and she was filled, for the first time consciously, with woman's sacred desire for sacrifice. A soft step on the sand broke the silence and scattered her aspirations. Count Anteoni was coming towards them between the trees.
But then he remembered his intercourse with Androvsky on the previous day. "After all," he thought more comfortably, "he did not look a happy man!" And he took himself to task for his sin of envy, and strolled to the inn by the fountain where he paid his pension. The same day, in the house of the marabout of Beni-Hassan, Count Anteoni received a letter brought from Amara by an Arab.
She thought of her dead father. The servants stole round the table, handing various dishes noiselessly. One of them, at this moment, poured red wine into Androvsky's glass. He uttered a low exclamation that sounded like the beginning of a protest hastily checked. "You prefer white wine?" said Count Anteoni. "No, thank you, Monsieur." He lifted the glass to his lips and drained it.
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