before De Trevignac came.
She thought of Mogar once more, steadily, reviewing mentally--with the
renewed sharpness of intellect that had returned to her, brought by
contact with the city--all that had passed there, as she never reviewed
it before.

It had been a strange episode.

She began to walk slowly up and down on the sand before the tent. Ouardi
came to walk with her, but she sent him away. Before doing so, however,
something moved her to ask him:

"That African liqueur, Ouardi--you remember that you brought to the tent
at Mogar--have we any more of it?"

"The monk's liqueur, Madame?"

"What do you mean--monk's liqueur?"

"It was invented by a monk, Madame, and is sold by the monks of
El-Largani."

"Oh! Have we any more of it?"

"There is another bottle, Madame, but I should not dare to bring it
if----"

He paused.

"If what, Ouardi?"

"If Monsieur were there."

Domini was on the point of asking him why, but she checked herself and
told him to leave her. Then she walked up and down once more on
the sand. She was thinking now of the broken glass on the ground at
Androvsky's feet when she found him alone in the tent after De Trevignac
had gone. Ouardi's words made her wonder whether this liqueur, brought
to celebrate De Trevignac's presence in the camp, had turned the
conversation upon the subject of the religious orders; whether Androvsky
had perhaps said something against them which had offended De Trevignac,
a staunch Catholic; whether there had been a quarrel between the two
men on the subject of religion. It was possible. She remembered De
Trevignac's strange, almost mystical, gesture in the dawn, following his
look of horror towards the tent where her husband lay sleeping.

To-night her mind--her whole nature--felt terribly alive.

She tried to think no more of Mogar, but her thoughts centred round it,
linked it with this great city, whose lights shone in the distance below
her, whose music came to her from afar over the silence of the sands.

Mogar and Amara; what had they to do with one another? Leagues of desert
divided them. One was a desolation, the other was crowded with men. What
linked them together in her mind?

Androvsky's fear of both--that was the link. She kept on thinking of the
glance he had cast at the watch-tower, to which Trevignac had been even
then approaching, although they knew it not. De Trevignac! She walked
faster on the sand, to and fro before the tent. Why had