of peace until this moment. But now she felt as if
she were compassed about by clouds.

The vagrant movement of the butterflies irritated her eyes, the distant
sound of the flute distressed her ears, and all the peace had gone. Once
again this man destroyed the spell Nature had cast upon her. Because
she knew that he had lied, her joy in the garden, her deeper joy in the
desert that embraced it, were stricken. Yet why should he not lie? Which
of us does not lie about his feelings? Has reserve no right to armour?

She heard her companions entering the room and turned round. At that
moment her heart was swept by an emotion almost of hatred to Androvsky.
Because of it she smiled. A forced gaiety dawned in her. She sat down on
one of the low divans, and, as she asked Count Anteoni for a cigarette
and lit it, she thought, "How shall I punish him?" That lie, not even
told to her and about so slight a matter, seemed to her an attack which
she resented and must return. Not for a moment did she ask herself if
she were reasonable. A voice within her said, "I will not be lied to,
I will not even bear a lie told to another in my presence by this man."
And the voice was imperious.

Count Anteoni remained beside her, smoking a cigar. Father Roubier took
a seat by the little table in front of her. But Androvsky went over to
the door she had just left, and stood, as she had, looking out into the
sunshine. Bous-Bous followed him, and snuffed affectionately round his
feet, trying to gain his attention.

"My little dog seems very fond of your friend," the priest said to
Domini.

"My friend!"

"Monsieur Androvsky."

She lowered her voice.

"He is only a travelling acquaintance. I know nothing of him."

The priest looked gently surprised and Count Anteoni blew forth a
fragrant cloud of smoke.

"He seems a remarkable man," the priest said mildly.

"Do you think so?"

She began to speak to Count Anteoni about some absurdity of Batouch,
forcing her mind into a light and frivolous mood, and he echoed her tone
with a clever obedience for which secretly she blessed him. In a moment
they were laughing together with apparent merriment, and Father Roubier
smiled innocently at their light-heartedness, believing in it sincerely.
But Androvsky suddenly turned around with a dark and morose countenance.

"Come in out of the sunshine," said the Count. "It is too strong. Try
this chair. Coffee will be--ah, here it is!"

Two servants appe