e of brushwood, the flames of which towered up towards the stars,
flickering this way and that as the breeze took them, and casting a wild
illumination upon the wild faces of the rejoicing desert men who were
gathered about it, telling stories of the wastes, singing songs that
were melancholy and remote to Western ears, even though they hymned
past victories over the infidels, or passionate ecstasies of love in the
golden regions of the sun. The steam from bowls of cous-cous and stews
of mutton and vegetables curled up to join the thin smoke that made a
light curtain about this fantasia, and from time to time, with a shrill
cry of exultation, a half-naked form, all gleaming eyes and teeth and
polished bronze-hued limbs, rushed out of the blackness beyond the fire,
leaped through the tongues of flame and vanished like a spectre into the
embrace of the night.

All the members of the caravan, presided over by Batouch in glory, were
celebrating the wedding night of their master and mistress.

Domini and Androvsky had already visited them by their bonfire, had
received their compliments, watched the sword dance and the dance of
the clubs, touched with their lips, or pretended to touch, the stem of a
keef, listened to a marriage song warbled by Ali to the accompaniment
of a flute and little drums, and applauded Ouardi's agility in leaping
through the flames. Then, with many good-nights, pressures of the hand,
and auguries for the morrow, they had gone away into the cool darkness,
silently towards their tent.

They walked slowly, a little apart from each other. Domini looked up at
the stars and saw among them the star of Liberty. Androvsky looked at
her and saw all the stars in her face. When they reached the tent door
they stopped on the warm earth. A lamp was lit within, casting a soft
light on the simple furniture and on the whiteness of the two beds,
above one of which Domini imagined, though from without she could not
see, the wooden crucifix Androvsky had once worn in his breast.

"Shall we stay here a little?" Domini said in a low voice. "Out here?"
There was a long pause. Then Androvsky answered:

"Yes. Let us feel it all--all. Let us feel it to the full."

He caught hold of her hand with a sort of tender roughness and twined
his fingers between hers, pressing his palm against hers.

"Don't let us miss anything to-night," he said. "All my life is
to-night. I've had no life yet. To-morrow--who knows whether we sha