she wore no ornaments except two earrings made of large
and beautiful turquoises. She took them hastily out of her ears and held
them out to the girl, signifying by gestures that she bartered them for
the little cross and chain. The girl hesitated, but the clear blue tint
of the turquoise pleased her eyes. She yielded, snatched the earrings
with an eager, gave up the cross and chain with a reluctant, hand.
Domini's fingers closed round the wet gold. She threw some coins across
the stream on to the bank, and turned away, thrusting the cross into her
bosom.

And she felt at that moment as if she had saved a sacred thing from
outrage.

At the cabaret door she found Androvsky, once more surrounded by Arabs,
whom honest Mustapha was trying to beat off. He turned when he heard
her. His eyes were still full of a light that revealed an intensity of
mental agitation, and she saw his left hand, which hung down, quivering
against his side. But he succeeded in schooling his voice as he asked:

"Do you wish to visit the village, Madame?"

"Yes. But don't let me bother you if you would rather--"

"I will come. I wish to come."

She did not believe it. She felt that he was in great pain, both of body
and mind. His fall had hurt him. She knew that by the way he moved his
right arm. The unaccustomed exercise had made him stiff. Probably the
physical discomfort he was silently enduring had acted as an irritant to
the mind. She remembered that it was caused by his determination to be
her companion, and the ice in her melted away. She longed to make him
calmer, happier. Secretly she touched the little cross that lay under
her habit. He had thrown it away in a passion. Well, some day perhaps
she would have the pleasure of giving it back to him. Since he had
worn it he must surely care for it, and even perhaps for that which it
recalled.

"We ought to visit the mosque, I think," she said.

"Yes, Madame."

The assent sounded determined yet reluctant. She knew this was all
against his will. Mustapha took charge of them, and they set out down
the narrow street, accompanied by a little crowd. They crossed the
glaring market-place, with its booths of red meat made black by flies,
its heaps of refuse, its rows of small and squalid hutches, in which
sat serious men surrounded by their goods. The noise here was terrific.
Everyone seemed shouting, and the uproar of the various trades, the
clamour of hammers on sheets of iron, the dry tap o