. He saw some stars. And,
leaning his cheek on his hand, he gazed through the little window for a
long, long time.

CHAPTER XXV

More than a year had passed away. April held sway over Algeria.

In the white Arab house on the hill Claude and Charmian still lived and
Claude still worked. To escape the great heat of the previous summer
they had gone to England for a time, but early October had found them
once more at Djenan-el-Maqui, and since then they had not stirred.

Their visit to London had been a strange experience for Charmian.

They had arrived in town at the beginning of July, and had stayed with
Mrs. Mansfield in Berkeley Square. Mrs. Mansfield had not paid her
proposed visit to Algiers. She had written that she was growing old and
lazy, and dreaded a sea voyage. But she had received them with a warmth
of affection which had earned their immediate forgiveness. There was
still a month of "season" to run, and Charmian went about and saw her
old friends. But Claude refused to go out, and returned at once to
orchestral studies with his "coach." He even remained in London during
the whole of August and September, while Charmian paid some visits, and
went to the sea with her mother. Thus they had been separated for a time
after their long sojourn together in the closest intimacy.

Charmian found that she missed Claude very much. One day she said to her
mother, with pretended lightness and smiling:

"Madre, I've got such a habit of Claude and Claude's work that I seem to
be in half when I'm not with him."

Mrs. Mansfield wondered whether her son-in-law felt in half when he was
by himself in London.

To Charmian, coming back, London and "the set" seemed changed. She had
sometimes suffered from ennui in Africa, even from loneliness in the
first months there. She had got up dreading the empty days, and had
often longed to have a party in the evening to look forward to. In
England she realized that not only had she got a habit of Claude, but
that she had got a habit, or almost a habit, of Africa and a quiet life
in the sunshine under blue skies. If the opera were finished, the need
for living in Mustapha removed, would she be glad not to return to
Djenan-el-Maqui? The mere thought of never seeing the little white house
with its cupolas and its flat roof again sent a sharp pang through her.
Pierre, with his arched eyebrows and upraised, upturned palm, "La Grande
Jeanne," Bibi, little Fatma, they had become