uiring ignorance--strange
glances of a man no longer even very young. It made something in her
leap and quiver. She was startled and almost angered by that, but not by
the eyes that caused it.

"_Au revoir_," she said, turning to go down.

"May I--might I see you get up?" said Androvsky.

"Get up!" she said.

"Up on the horse?"

She could not help smiling at his fashion of expressing the act of
mounting. He was not a sportsman evidently, despite his muscular
strength.

"Certainly, if you like. Come along."

Without thinking of it she spoke rather as to a schoolboy, not
with superiority, but with the sort of bluffness age sometimes uses
good-naturedly to youth. He did not seem to resent it and followed her
down to the arcade.

The side saddle was on and the poet held the grey by the bridle. Some
Arab boys had assembled under the arcade to see what was going forward.
The Arab waiter lounged at the door with the tassel of his fez swinging
against his pale cheek. The horse fidgetted and tugged against the rein,
lifting his delicate feet uneasily from the ground, flicking his narrow
quarters with his long tail, and glancing sideways with his dark and
brilliant eyes, which were alive with a nervous intelligence that was
almost hectic. Domini went up to him and caressed him with her hand. He
reared up and snorted. His whole body seemed a-quiver with the desire to
gallop furiously away alone into some far distant place.

Androvsky stood near the waiter, looking at Domini and at the horse with
wonder and alarm in his eyes.

The animal, irritated by inaction, began to plunge violently and to get
out of hand.

"Give me the reins," Domini said to the poet. "That's it. Now put your
hand for me."

Batouch obeyed. Her foot just touched his hand and she was in the
saddle.

Androvsky sprang forward on to the pavement. His eyes were blazing with
anxiety. She saw it and laughed gaily.

"Oh, he's not vicious," she said. "And vice is the only thing that's
dangerous. His mouth is perfect, but he's nervous and wants handling.
I'll just take him up the gardens and back."

She had been reining him in. Now she let him go, and galloped up the
straight track between the palms towards the station. The priest had
come out into his little garden with Bous-Bous, and leaned over his
brushwood fence to look after her. Bous-Bous barked in a light soprano.
The Arab boys jumped on their bare toes, and one of them, who was a
bootblack,