l, for once--for an hour--you can surely----"

She did not finish the sentence. While she was speaking she felt the
banality of such phrases spoken to such a man, and suddenly changed tone
and manner.

"Monsieur Androvsky," she said, laying one hand on his arm, "I knew you
would not like Father Roubier's being here. If I had known he was coming
I should have told you in order that you might have kept away if you
wished to. But now that you are here--now that Smain has let you in and
the Count and Father Roubier must know of it, I am sure you will stay
and govern your dislike. You intend to turn back. I see that. Well, I
ask you to stay."

She was not thinking of herself, but of him. Instinct told her to teach
him the way to conceal his aversion. Retreat would proclaim it.

"For yourself I ask you," she added. "If you go, you tell them what you
have told me. You don't wish to do that."

They looked at each other. Then, without a word, he walked on again. As
she kept beside him she felt as if in that moment their acquaintanceship
had sprung forward, like a thing that had been forcibly restrained and
that was now sharply released. They did not speak again till they saw,
at the end of an alley, the Count and the priest standing together
beneath the jamelon tree. Bous-Bous ran forward barking, and Domini was
conscious that Androvsky braced himself up, like a fighter stepping into
the arena. Her keen sensitiveness of mind and body was so infected
by his secret impetuosity of feeling that it seemed to her as if his
encounter with the two men framed in the sunlight were a great event
which might be fraught with strange consequences. She almost held her
breath as she and Androvsky came down the path and the fierce sunrays
reached out to light up their faces.

Count Anteoni stepped forward to greet them.

"Monsieur Androvsky--Count Anteoni," she said.

The hands of the two men met. She saw that Androvsky's was lifted
reluctantly.

"Welcome to my garden," Count Anteoni said with his invariable easy
courtesy. "Every traveller has to pay his tribute to my domain. I dare
to exact that as the oldest European inhabitant of Beni-Mora."

Androvsky said nothing. His eyes were on the priest. The Count noticed
it, and added:

"Do you know Father Roubier?"

"We have often seen each other in the hotel," Father Roubier said with
his usual straightforward simplicity.

He held out his hand, but Androvsky bowed hastily and awkward