natural
though it was, seemed to him in his present condition cruelly heartless.
He thought of her giving the order about the tents and then going calmly
to play with these children, while he--while he----

"You can go, Batouch," he said. "Go away."

The poet stared at him with a superb surprise, then moved slowly towards
Ouardi, holding his burnous with his large hands.

Androvsky looked again at the two tents as a man looks at two enemies.
Then, walking quickly, he went towards the hump of sand. As he
approached it Domini had her side face turned towards him. She did not
see him. The little Arabs were dancing round her on their naked feet,
laughing, showing their white teeth and opening their mouths wide for
the sugar-plums--gaiety incarnate. Androvsky gazed at the woman who was
causing this childish joy, and he saw a profound sadness. Never had
he seen Domini's face look like this. It was always white, but now its
whiteness was like a whiteness of marble. She moved her head, turning to
feed one of the little gaping mouths, and he saw her eyes, tearless,
but sadder than if they had been full of tears. She was looking at these
children as a mother looks at her children who are fatherless. He did
not--how could he?--understand the look, but it went to his heart.
He stopped, watching. One of the children saw him, shrieked, pointed.
Domini glanced round. As she saw him she smiled, threw the last
sugar-plums and came towards him.

"Do you want me?" she said, coming up to him.

His lips trembled.

"Yes," he said, "I want you."

Something in his voice seemed to startle her, but she said nothing more,
only stood looking at him. The children, who had followed her, crowded
round them, touching their clothes curiously.

"Send them away," he said.

She made the children go, pushing them gently, pointing to the village,
and showing the empty box to them. Reluctantly at last they went towards
the village, turning their heads to stare at her till they were a long
way off, then holding up their skirts and racing for the houses.

"Domini--Domini," he said. "You can--you can play with
children--to-day."

"I wanted to feel I could give a little happiness to-day," she
answered--"even to-day."

"To-day when--when to me--to me--you are giving----"

But before her steady gaze all the words he had meant to say, all the
words of furious protest, died on his lips.

"To me--to me--" he repeated.

Then he was silent.

"Bor