he evening of the following day they reached Tunis, and drove to the
Hotel d'Orient, where they had written to engage rooms for one night.
They had expected that the city would be almost deserted by its European
inhabitants now the summer had set in, but when they drove up to the
door of the hotel the proprietor came out to inform them that, owing
to the arrival of a ship full of American tourists who, personally
conducted, were "viewing" Tunis after an excursion to the East and
to the Holy Land, he had been unable to keep for them a private
sitting-room. With many apologies he explained that all the
sitting-rooms in the house had been turned into bedrooms, but only for
one night. On the morrow the personally-conducted ones would depart and
Madame and Monsieur could have a charming salon. They listened silently
to his explanations and apologies, standing in the narrow entrance
hall, which was blocked up with piles of luggage. "Tomorrow," he kept on
repeating, "to-morrow" all would be different.

Domini glanced at Androvsky, who stood with his head bent down, looking
on the ground.

"Shall we try another hotel?" she asked.

"If you wish," he answered in a low voice.

"It would be useless, Madame," said the proprietor. "All the hotels are
full. In the others you will not find even a bedroom."

"Perhaps we had better stay here," she said to Androvsky.

Her voice, too, was low and tired. In her heart something seemed to say,
"Do not strive any more. In the garden it was finished. Already you are
face to face with the end."

When she was alone in her small bedroom, which was full of the noises
of the street, and had washed and put on another dress, she began to
realise how much she had secretly been counting on one more evening
alone with Androvsky. She had imagined herself dining with him in their
sitting-room unwatched, sitting together afterwards, for an hour or two,
in silence perhaps, but at least alone. She had imagined a last solitude
with him with the darkness of the African night around them. She had
counted upon that. She realised it now. Her whole heart and soul had
been asking for that, believing that at least that would be granted to
her. But it was not to be. She must go down with him into a crowd of
American tourists, must--her heart sickened. It seemed to her for a
moment that if only she could have this one more evening quietly with
the man she loved she could brace herself to bear anything afterwards