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Updated: June 12, 2025
Only three weeks had passed away since the first halt at Arba, yet already her life at Beni-Mora was faint in her mind as the dream of a distant past.
This contact with the crowds of Amara was, she thought, one of the gifts the desert made to him. He did not like it. He wished to reject it. But he was mistaken. For the moment his vision was clouded, as our vision for ourselves so often is. She realised this, and, for the first time since the marriage service at Beni-Mora, perhaps seemed to be selfish. She opposed his wish.
A guard came up, told her the place was El-Akbara, and that the train would stay there ten minutes to wait for the train from Beni-Mora. She decided to get out and stretch her cramped limbs. On the platform she found Suzanne, looking like a person who had just been slapped. One side of the maid's face was flushed and covered with a faint tracery of tiny lines. The other was greyish white.
"Batouch!" she called out. "You can ride back to Beni-Mora. We shall follow directly." The poet cantered forward. "Madame, it is not safe." The sound of his voice made Domini suddenly know what she had not been sure of before that she wished to be alone with Androvsky. "Go, Batouch!" she said. "I tell you to go."
"Every traveller has to pay his tribute to my domain. I dare to exact that as the oldest European inhabitant of Beni-Mora." Androvsky said nothing. His eyes were on the priest. The Count noticed it, and added: "Do you know Father Roubier?" "We have often seen each other in the hotel," Father Roubier said with his usual straightforward simplicity.
"I cannot go at Beni-Mora where we where everything will remind us " "Ah, don't you think I shall feel it too? Don't you think I shall suffer?" He felt horribly ashamed when she said that, bowed down with an overwhelming weight of shame. "But our lives" he stammered "but if I go afterwards if I make my confession afterwards afterwards?" "Isn't it enough to think of that one thing?
"I wanted to see a real Sahara city to which the Cook's tourist had not as yet penetrated, and I resolved to ride there from Beni-Mora. When Henry Marnier heard of it he asked if he might accompany me. "Marnier was a young man who had recently left Oxford, and who had come out to Beni-Mora only a week before to see his mother, who was going through the sulphur cure.
Isn't it better to put everything else, every other thought, away? It seems so clear to me that we should go to Beni-Mora. I feel as if I had been told as a child is told to do something by its father." She looked up into the clear sky. "I am sure I have been told," she added. "I know I have." There was a long silence between them. Androvsky felt that he did not dare to break it.
And with those whom Domini knew were assembled their friends, and their friends' friends, men of Beni-Mora, men from the near oasis, and also many of those desert wanderers who drift in daily out of the sands to the centres of buying and selling, barter their goods for the goods of the South, or sell their loads of dates for money, and, having enjoyed the dissipation of the cafes and of the dancing-houses, drift away again into the pathless wastes which are their home.
While they stood there the nasal voice of the Mueddin rose from the minaret of the mosque of Beni-Mora, uttered its fourfold cry, and died away. "Boris," Domini said, "that is for the Arabs, but for us, too, for we belong to the garden of Allah as they do, perhaps even more than they." "Yes, Domini."
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