his eyes rested on Androvsky's face, and suddenly he looked
grave and put Bous-Bous gently down on the floor.

"I'm afraid I must be going," he said.

"Already?" said his host.

"I dare not allow myself too much idleness. If once I began to be idle
in this climate I should become like an Arab and do nothing all day but
sit in the sun."

"As I do. Father, we meet very seldom, but whenever we do I feel myself
a cumberer of the earth."

Domini had never before heard him speak with such humbleness. The priest
flushed like a boy.

"We each serve in our own way," he said quickly. "The Arab who sits all
day in the sun may be heard as a song of praise where He is."

And then he took his leave. This time he did not extend his hand to
Androvsky, but only bowed to him, lifting his white helmet. As he went
away in the sun with Bous-Bous the three he had left followed him
with their eyes. For Androvsky had turned his chair sideways, as if
involuntarily.

"I shall learn to love Father Roubier," Domini said.

Androvsky moved his seat round again till his back was to the garden,
and placed his broad hands palm downward on his knees.

"Yes?" said the Count.

"He is so transparently good, and he bears his great disappointment so
beautifully."

"What great disappointment?"

"He longed to become a monk."

Androvsky got up from his seat and walked back to the garden doorway.
His restless demeanour and lowering expression destroyed all sense of
calm and leisure. Count Anteoni looked after him, and then at Domini,
with a sort of playful surprise. He was going to speak, but before the
words came Smain appeared, carrying reverently a large envelope covered
with Arab writing.

"Will you excuse me for a moment?" the Count said.

"Of course."

He took the letter, and at once a vivid expression of excitement shone
in his eyes. When he had read it there was a glow upon his face as if
the flames of a fire played over it.

"Miss Enfilden," he said, "will you think me very discourteous if I
leave you for a moment? The messenger who brought this has come from far
and starts to-day on his return journey. He has come out of the south,
three hundred kilometres away, from Beni-Hassan, a sacred village--a
sacred village."

He repeated the last words, lowering his voice.

"Of course go and see him."

"And you?"

He glanced towards Androvsky, who was standing with his back to them.

"Won't you show Monsieur Androvsky the garden?