hed
her mind, thinking of the desert, of her life there, of man's life in
the desert. Was it not tent-shaped? She saw it as a tent, as her tent
pitched somewhere in the waste far from the habitations of men. Now the
trembling hands were still, the voice was still, but the sweat did not
cease from dropping down upon the sand.

"Tell me!" she murmured to the Count.

He obeyed, seeming now to speak with an effort.

"It is far away in the desert----"

He paused.

"Yes? Yes?"

"Very far away in a sandy place. There are immense dunes, immense white
dunes of sand on every side, like mountains. Near at hand there is a
gleam of many fires. They are lit in the market-place of a desert city.
Among the dunes, with camels picketed behind it, there is a tent----"

She pointed to the triangle traced upon the sand.

"I knew it," she whispered. "It is my tent."

"He sees you there, as he saw you in the palanquin. But now it is night
and you are quite alone. You are not asleep. Something keeps you awake.
You are excited. You go out of the tent upon the dunes and look towards
the fires of the city. He hears the jackals howling all around you, and
sees the skeletons of dead camels white under the moon."

She shuddered in spite of herself.

"There is something tremendous in your soul. He says it is as if all the
date palms of the desert bore their fruit together, and in all the
dry places, where men and camels have died of thirst in bygone years,
running springs burst forth, and as if the sand were covered with
millions of golden flowers big as the flower of the aloe."

"But then it is joy, it must be joy!"

"He says it is great joy."

"Then why does he look like that, breathe like that?"

She indicated the Diviner, who was trembling where he crouched, and
breathing heavily, and always sweating like one in agony.

"There is more," said the Count, slowly.

"Tell me."

"You stand alone upon the dunes and you look towards the city. He hears
the tomtoms beating, and distant cries as if there were a fantasia. Then
he sees a figure among the dunes coming towards you."

"Who is it?" she asked.

He did not answer. But she did not wish him to answer. She had spoken
without meaning to speak.

"You watch this figure. It comes to you, walking heavily."

"Walking heavily?"

"That's what he says. The dates shrivel on the palms, the streams dry
up, the flowers droop and die in the sand. In the city the tomtoms faint
away and