,
but that if she could not have it she must break down. She felt
desperate.

A gong sounded below. She did not move, though she heard it, knew what
it meant. After a few minutes there was a tap at the door.

"What is it?" she said.

"Dinner is ready, Madame," said a voice in English with a strong foreign
accent.

Domini went to the door and opened it.

"Does Monsieur know?"

"Monsieur is already in the hall waiting for Madame."

She went down and found Androvsky.

They dined at a small table in a room fiercely lit up with electric
light and restless with revolving fans. Close to them, at an immense
table decorated with flowers, dined the American tourists. The women
wore hats with large hanging veils. The men were in travelling suits.
They looked sunburnt and gay, and talked and laughed with an intense
vivacity. Afterwards they were going in a body to see the dances of the
Almees. Androvsky shot one glance at them as he came in, then looked
away quickly. The lines near his mouth deepened. For a moment he
shut his eyes. Domini did not speak to him, did not attempt to talk.
Enveloped by the nasal uproar of the gay tourists they ate in silence.
When the short meal was over they got up and went out into the hall. The
public drawing-room opened out of it on the left. They looked into it
and saw red plush settees, a large centre table covered with a rummage
of newspapers, a Jew with a bald head writing a letter, and two old
German ladies with caps drinking coffee and knitting stockings.

"The desert!" Androvsky whispered.

Suddenly he drew away from the door and walked out into the street.
Lines of carriages stood there waiting to be hired. He beckoned to one,
a victoria with a pair of small Arab horses. When it was in front of the
hotel he said to Domini:

"Will you get in, Domini?"

She obeyed. Androvsky said to the mettse driver:

"Drive to the Belvedere. Drive round the park till I tell you to
return."

The man whipped his horses, and they rattled down the broad street, past
the brilliantly-lighted cafes, the Cercle Militaire, the palace of the
Resident, where Zouaves were standing, turned to the left and were soon
out on a road where a tram line stretched between villas, waste ground
and flat fields. In front of them rose a hill with a darkness of trees
scattered over it. They reached it, and began to mount it slowly. The
lights of the city shone below them. Domini saw great sloping lawns
dotted with