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Updated: July 12, 2025
"The railway stops at Beni-Mora. To reach Beni-Kouidar one must go on horse or camel back over between three and four hundred kilometres of desert, sleeping on the way at Travellers' Houses Bordjs as they are called there.
Afterwards she explained to Anteoni that she felt as if another's fate was being read in it as well as her own, as if to listen any more might be to intrude upon another's secret. Upon the following day Anteoni left Beni-Mora to make a long desert journey to a sacred city called Amara. Domini went to his garden at dawn to see him off. Before departing he warned Domini to beware of Androvsky.
Wearied and stiffened as he had been by the expedition to Sidi-Zerzour, actually injured by his fall she knew from Batouch that he had been obliged to call in the Beni-Mora doctor to bandage his shoulder she had been roused at dawn on the day following by his tread on the verandah.
And she resolved to fix her eyes upon it as he fixed his eyes upon the tower. Just after sunset they rode into Beni-Mora in advance of the camp, which they had passed upon their way. To the right were the trees of Count Anteoni's garden. Domini felt them, but she did not look towards them. Nor did Androvsky. They kept their eyes fixed upon the distance of the white road.
God had blinded her in order that she might fall, had brought Androvsky to her in order that her religion, her Catholic faith, might be made hideous to her for ever. She trembled all over as she knelt. Her life had been sad, even tormented. And she had set out upon a pilgrimage to find peace. She had been led to Beni-Mora.
This was surely the geni of the garden, and his company would add to its mystery and fragrance. "You need not stay by the door?" she asked. "No one will come. There is no one in Beni-Mora. And Hassan will stay." He pointed with his rose to a little tent that was pitched close to the gate beneath a pepper tree. In it Domini saw a brown boy curled up like a dog and fast asleep.
Presently the brown buildings of old Beni-Mora came partially into sight, peeping here and there through the flying sands and the frantic palm leaves. The desert was at hand. Ali began to sing, breathing his song into the back of Batouch's hood.
It was a bitter, even a horrible, moment to him. The little acolyte, a French boy, son of the postmaster of Beni-Mora, was startled by the sight of the Father's face when he opened the sacristy door. He had never before seen such an expression of almost harsh pain in those usually kind eyes, and he drew back from the threshold like one afraid.
The tomtom and the shriek that went with it made it a fierce crescendo. "That means he is starving the old hypocrite! Aren't they like the wolves in your Russia, Monsieur? But we must feed them. We mustn't let them devour our Beni-Mora. That's it!" He threw the string on to the sand, plunged his hand into the bag and brought it out full of copper coins.
"To-night," he said, "I feel that I know nothing nothing except that I am suffering." His voice broke on the last words. Tears were shining in his eyes. After a long silence he said: "Domini, take me where you will. If it is to Beni-Mora I will go. But but afterwards?" "Afterwards " she said. Then she stopped. The little note of the frog sounded again and again by the still water among the reeds.
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