rhaps, he had come first to the desert.
She could not--she did not--expect him to show the sort of easy
cultivation that a man acquires only by long contact with all sorts and
conditions of men and women. But she knew that he was not only full of
fire and feeling--a man with a great temperament, but also that he was a
man who had found time to study, whose mind was not empty. He was a man
who had thought profoundly. She knew this, although even with her, even
in the great intimacy that is born of a great mutual passion, she knew
him for a man of naturally deep reserve, who could not perhaps speak all
his thoughts to anyone, even to the woman he loved. And knowing this,
she felt a fighting temper rise up in her. She resolved to use her will
upon this man who loved her, to force him to show his best side to the
guest who had come to them out of the terror of the dunes. She would be
obstinate for him.

Her lips went down a little at the corners. De Trevignac glanced at her
above his soup-plate, and then at Androvsky. He was a man who had
seen much of society, and who divined at once the gulf that must have
separated the kind of life led in the past by his hostess from the
kind of life led by his host. Such gulfs, he knew, are bridged with
difficulty. In this case a great love must have been the bridge. His
interest in these two people, encountered by him in the desolation of
the wastes, and when all his emotions had been roused by the nearness
of peril, would have been deep in any case. But there was something that
made it extraordinary, something connected with Androvsky. It seemed to
him that he had seen, perhaps known Androvsky at some time in his life.
Yet Androvsky's face was not familiar to him. He could not yet tell from
what he drew this impression, but it was strong. He searched his memory.

Just at first fatigue was heavy upon him, but the hot soup, the first
glass of wine revived him. When Domini, full of her secret obstinacy,
began to talk gaily he was soon able easily to take his part, and to
join her in her effort to include Androvsky in the conversation. The
cheerful noise of the camp came to them from without.

"I'm afraid my men are lifting up their voices rather loudly," said De
Trevignac.

"We like it," said Domini. "Don't we, Boris?"

There was a long peal of laughter from the distance. As it died away
Batouch's peculiar guttural chuckle, which had something negroid in
it, was audible, prolonging i