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Updated: June 22, 2025
The Count said some words to him in Arabic, and at once he walked forward and disappeared among the trees, going so silently and smoothly that she seemed to watch a panther gliding into the depths of a jungle where its prey lay hid. She looked at the Count interrogatively. "He will wait in the fumoir." "Where we first met?" "Yes." "What for?" "For us, if you choose." "Tell me about him.
Here in this 'fumoir', lawyers, doctors, business men of all descriptions, newspaper correspondents, movie photographers, and millionaires who had never crossed save in a 'cabine de luxe', rubbed elbows and exchanged views and played bridge together.
On the upper deck, high above the waves, was a little 'fumoir' which, by some odd trick of association, reminded me of the villa formerly occupied by the Kaiser in Corfu perhaps because of the faience plaques set in the walls although I cannot now recall whether the villa has faience plaques or not.
He had surely given her into the guardianship of the sun. The door of the garden stood wide open, and, as she entered, she saw three magnificent horses prancing upon the sweep of sand in the midst of a little group of Arabs. Smain greeted her with graceful warmth and begged her to follow him to the fumoir, where the Count was waiting for her.
Androvsky came to the doorway of the fumoir without looking up, stood still there just where Count Anteoni had stood during his first interview with Domini and said: "Domini, I have been to the priest. I have made my confession." "Yes," she said. "Yes, Boris!" He came into the fumoir and sat down near her, but not close to her, on one of the divans.
Then they walked on in silence till they saw the purple blossoms of the bougainvillea clinging to the white walls of the fumoir. Domini stopped on the narrow path. "Is he in there?" she asked almost in a whisper. "No doubt." "Larbi was playing the first day I came here." "Yes." "I wish he was playing now." The silence seemed to her unnaturally intense. "Even his love must have repose."
On the upper deck, high above the waves, was a little 'fumoir' which, by some odd trick of association, reminded me of the villa formerly occupied by the Kaiser in Corfu perhaps because of the faience plaques set in the walls although I cannot now recall whether the villa has faience plaques or not.
As she sat in the fumoir, looking down on the smoothly-raked sand, she said to herself that till this moment she had never had any idea of the meaning of solitude. It was the desert within a human soul, but the desert without the sun. And she knew this because at last she loved.
It returned and swept about the narrow streets, eddying at the corners, beating upon the palmwood doors, behind which the painted dancing-girls were cowering, cold under their pigments and their heavy jewels, their red hands trembling and clasping one another, clamouring about the minarets of the mosques on which the frightened doves were sheltering, shaking the fences that shut in the gazelles in their pleasaunce, tearing at the great statue of the Cardinal that faced it resolutely, holding up the double cross as if to exorcise it, battering upon the tall, white tower on whose summit Domini had first spoken with Androvsky, raging through the alleys of Count Anteoni's garden, the arcades of his villa, the window-spaces of the fumoir, from whose walls it tore down frantically the purple petals of the bougainvillea and dashed them, like enemies defeated, upon the quivering paths which were made of its own body.
Yet she did not leave it, for to-day something seemed to tell her that it was meant that she should suffer, and she bowed in spirit to the decree. She went on slowly till she reached the fumoir. She entered it and sat down. She had not seen any of the gardeners or heard the note of a flute. The day was very still.
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