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"Another surprise of Batouch's!" she interrupted gaily. "Take it in! Monsieur the officer will think we have quite a cellar in the desert." He went on, and she stood for a few minutes looking at the blaze of the fire, and at the faces lit up by it, French and Arab.
Often they had smiled over Batouch's opulent descriptions of the marvels of Ain-Amara, which they suspected to be very far away from the reality, and yet, nevertheless, when they saw the minarets soaring above the sands to the brassy heaven, it seemed to them both as if, perhaps, they might be true. The place looked intensely barbaric. The approach to it was grandiose.
There was a long peal of laughter from the distance. As it died away Batouch's peculiar guttural chuckle, which had something negroid in it, was audible, prolonging itself in a loneliness that spoke his pertinacious sense of humour. "Certainly," said Androvsky, still in the same strained and unnatural voice which had surprised Domini when she introduced the two men.
The poet was in the white arcade with Hadj, who looked both wicked and deplorable, and had a shabby air, in marked contrast to Batouch's ostentatious triumph. Domini felt quite sorry for him. "You come with us too," she said. Hadj squared his shoulders and instantly looked vivacious and almost smart. But an undecided expression came into his face. "Where is Madame going?" "To see the village."
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.
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