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Updated: June 12, 2025
But Irena is the most terrible girl in all Beni-Mora if she loves or if she is angry, the most terrible in all the Sahara." Domini laughed. "Madame does not know her," said Batouch, imperturbably. "But Madame can ask the Arabs. Many of the dancers of Beni-Mora are murdered, each season two or three. But no man would try to murder Irena. No man would dare."
The camels roamed the plain among the tamarisk bushes, watched over by shrouded shadowy guardians sleepless as they were. The mountains, the palms of Beni-Mora, were lost in the darkness that lay over the desert.
The seller of perfumes had led her towards a dream. She was not combative, and she would be alone in the garden. As they walked towards it in the sun, through narrow ways where idle Arabs lounged with happy aimlessness, Batouch talked of Count Anteoni, the owner of the garden. Evidently the Count was the great personage of Beni-Mora.
After he had made his confession to the priest of Beni-Mora who had married them, she led him to the monastery door, and there they parted for ever on earth, to be reunited, as both believed, in heaven. And now, in the garden of Count Anteoni, which has passed into other hands, a little boy may often be seen playing.
Count Anteoni took down his arm from the white wall and pulled a branch of the purple flowers slowly towards him through the doorway. "There is peace what is generally called so, at least in Beni-Mora," he answered rather slowly and meditatively. "That is to say, there is similarity of day with day, night with night. The sun shines untiringly over the desert, and the desert always hints at peace."
Perhaps he knew it and resented it, for he drew himself upright on his horse and spoke again, with a decision that was rare in him. "Let me send Batouch back to Beni-Mora, Madame." "Why?" she asked, in a low voice that was full of hesitation. "You do not need him now."
In the oasis of Beni-Mora men, who had slowly roused themselves to pray, sank down to sleep again in the warm twilight of shrouded gardens or the warm night of windowless rooms. In the garden of Count Anteoni Larbi's flute was silent. "It is like noon in a mirage," Domini said softly. Count Anteoni nodded. "I feel as if I were looking at myself a long way off," she added.
There was a pleading sound in her voice which made him feel as if it were speaking close against his heart. "I said I would tell you to-night where we are going." "Tell me now." "We are going back to Beni-Mora. We are not very far off from Beni-Mora to-night not very far." "We are going to Beni-Mora!" he repeated in a dull voice. "We are " He sat up on the wall, looking straight into her face.
To-morrow she and Androvsky would go out into the storm and the darkness together. The train of camels would be lost in the desolation of the desert. And the people of Beni-Mora would see it vanish, and, perhaps, would pity those who were hidden by the curtains of the palanquin. They would pity her as Suzanne pitied her, openly, with eyes that were tragic. She laughed aloud.
He fell suddenly into a moody silence. I broke it by saying: "It was the sand-diviner?" He looked at me sharply. "I don't know." "You never found out?" "At Beni-Mora the women go veiled," he said harshly.
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