tself in a loneliness that spoke his
pertinacious sense of humour.

"Certainly," said Androvsky, still in the same strained and unnatural
voice which had surprised Domini when she introduced the two men. "We
are accustomed to gaiety round the camp fire."

"You are making a long stay in the desert, Monsieur?" asked De
Trevignac.

"I hope so, Monsieur. It depends on my--it depends on Madame Androvsky."

"Why didn't he say 'my wife'?" thought De Trevignac. And again he
searched his memory. "Had he ever met this man? If so, where?"

"I should like to stay in the desert for ever," Domini said quickly,
with a long look at her husband.

"I should not, Madame," De Trevignac said.

"I understand. The desert has shown you its terrors."

"Indeed it has."

"But to us it has only shown its enchantment. Hasn't it?" She spoke to
Androvsky. After a pause he replied:

"Yes."

The word, when it came, sounded like a lie.

For the first time since her marriage Domini felt a cold, like a cold of
ice about her heart. Was it possible that Androvsky had not shared her
joy in the desert? Had she been alone in her happiness? For a moment she
sat like one stunned by a blow. Then knowledge, reason, spoke in her.
She knew of Androvsky's happiness with her, knew it absolutely. There
are some things in which a woman cannot be deceived. When Androvsky
was with her he wanted no other human being. Nothing could take that
certainty from her.

"Of course," she said, recovered, "there are places in the desert in
which melancholy seems to brood, in which one has a sense of the terrors
of the wastes. Mogar, I think, is one of them, perhaps the only one we
have been in yet. This evening, when I was sitting under the tower, even
I"--and as she said "even I" she smiled happily at Androvsky--"knew some
forebodings."

"Forebodings?" Androvsky said quickly. "Why should you--?" He broke off.

"Not of coming misfortune, I hope, Madame?" said De Trevignac in a voice
that was now irresistibly cheerful.

He was helping himself to some gazelle, which sent forth an appetising
odour, and Ouardi was proudly pouring out for him the first glass of
blithely winking champagne.

"I hardly know, but everything looked sad and strange; I began to think
about the uncertainties of life."

Domini and De Trevignac were sipping their champagne. Ouardi came behind
Androvsky to fill his glass.

"Non! non!" he said, putting his hand over it and shaking his head.