Domini!"

"Yes," she answered.

And this time she withdrew her eyes from the blue distance and looked at
him.

"Domini, you must trust me."

He was thinking of the two tents set the one apart from the other.

"Domini, I've borne something in silence. I haven't spoken. I wanted
to speak. I tried--but I did not. I bore my punishment--you don't know,
you'll never know what I felt last--last night--when--I've borne that.
But there's one thing I can't bear. I've lived a lie with you. My love
for you overcame me. I fell. I have told you that I fell. Don't--don't
because of that--don't take away your heart from me entirely.
Domini--Domini--don't do that."

She heard a sound of despair in his voice.

"Oh, Boris," she said, "if you knew! There was only one moment when I
fancied my heart was leaving you. It passed almost before it came, and
now--"

"But," he interrupted, "do you know--do you know that since--since I
spoke, since I told you, you've--you've never touched me?"

"Yes, I know it," she replied quietly.

Something told him to be silent then. Something told him to wait till
the night came and the camp was pitched once more.

They rested at noon for several hours, as it was impossible to travel
in the heat of the day. The camp started an hour before they did. Only
Batouch remained behind to show them the way to Ain-la-Hammam, where
they would pass the following night. When Batouch brought the horses he
said:

"Does Madame know the meaning of Ain-la-Hammam?"

"No," said Domini. "What is it?"

"Source des tourterelles," replied Batouch. "I was there once with an
English traveller."

"Source des tourterelles," repeated Domini. "Is it beautiful, Batouch?
It sounds as if it ought to be beautiful."

She scarcely knew why, but she had a longing that Ain-la-Hammam might be
tender, calm, a place to soothe the spirit, a place in which Androvsky
might be influenced to listen to what she had to tell him without
revolt, without despair. Once he had spoken about the influence of
place, about rising superior to it. But she believed in it, and she
waited, almost anxiously, for the reply of Batouch. As usual it was
enigmatic.

"Madame will see," he answered. "Madame will see. But the
Englishman----"

"Yes?"

"The Englishman was ravished. 'This,' he said to me, 'this, Batouch, is
a little Paradise!' And there was no moon then. To-night there will be a
moon."

"Paradise!" exclaimed Androvsky.

He sprang upon h