When Domini reached the camp she found it in a bustle. Batouch, resigned to the inevitable, had put the cook upon his mettle. Ouardi was already to be seen with a bottle of Pommery in each hand, and was only prevented from instantly uncorking them by the representations of his mistress and an elaborate exposition of the peculiar and evanescent virtues of champagne. Ali was humming a mysterious song about a lovesick camel-man, with which he intended to make glad the hearts of the assembly when the halting time was over. And the dining- table was already set for three.
When Androvsky rode in with the Arabs Domini met him at the edge of the hill.
"You saw my signal, Boris?"
"Yes--"
He was going to say more, when she interrupted him eagerly.
"Have you any gazelle? Ah----""
Across the mule of one of the Arabs she saw a body drooping, a delicate head with thin, pointed horns, tiny legs with exquisite little feet that moved as the mule moved.
"We shall want it to-night. Take it quickly to the cook's tent, Ahmed." Androvsky got off his mule.
"There's a light in the tower!" he said, looking at her and then dropping his eyes.
"Yes."
"And I saw two signals. There were two brands being waved together."
"To-night, we have comrades in the desert."
"Comrades!" he said.
His voice sounded startled.
"Men who have escaped from a horrible death in the dunes."
"Arabs?"
"French."
Quickly she told him her story. He listened in silence. When she had finished he said nothing. But she saw him look at the dining-table laid for three and his expression was dark and gloomy.
"Boris, you don't mind!" she said in surprise. "Surely you would not refuse hospitality to these poor fellows!"
She put her hand through his arm and pressed it.
"Have I done wrong? But I know I haven't!"
"Wrong! How could you do that?"
He seemed to make an effort, to conquer something within him.
"It's I who am wrong, Domini. The truth is, I can't bear our happiness to be intruded upon even for a night. I want to be alone with you.
This life of ours in the desert has made me desperately selfish. I want to be alone, quite alone, with you."
"It's that! How glad I am!"
She laid her cheek against his arm.
"Then," he said, "that other signal?"
"Monsieur de Trevignac gave it."
Androvsky took his arm from hers abruptly.
"Monsieur de Trevignac!" he said. "Monsieur de Trevignac?"
He stood as if in deep and anxious thought.
"Yes, the officer. That's his name. What is it, Boris?"
"Nothing."
There was a sound of voices approaching the camp in the darkness. They were speaking French.
"I must," said Androvsky, "I must----"
He made an uncertain movement, as if to go towards the dunes, checked it, and went hurriedly into the dressing-tent. As he disappeared De Trevignac came into the camp with his men. Batouch conducted the latter with all ceremony towards the fire which burned before the tents of the attendants, and, for the moment, Domini was left alone with De Trevignac.
"My husband is coming directly," she said. "He was late in returning, but he brought gazelle. Now you must sit down at once."
She led the way to the dining-tent. De Trevignac glanced at the table laid for three with an eager anticipation which he was far too natural to try to conceal.
"Madame," he said, "if I disgrace myself to-night, if I eat like an ogre in a fairy tale, will you forgive me?"
"I will not forgive you if you don't."
She spoke gaily, made him sit down in a folding-chair, and insisted on putting a soft cushion at his back. Her manner was cheerful, almost eagerly kind and full of a camaraderie rare in a woman, yet he noticed a change in her since they stood together waving the brands by the tower. And he said to himself:
"The husband--perhaps he's not so pleased at my appearance. I wonder how long they've been married?"
And he felt his curiosity to see "Monsieur Androvsky" deepen.
While they waited for him Domini made De Trevignac tell her the story of his terrible adventure in the dunes. He did so simply, like a soldier, without exaggeration. When he had finished she said:
"You thought death was certain then?"
"Quite certain, Madame."
She looked at him earnestly.
"To have faced a death like that in utter desolation, utter loneliness, must make life seem very different afterwards."
"Yes, Madame. But I did not feel utterly alone."
"Your men!"
"No, Madame."
After a pause he added, simply:
"My mother is a devout Catholic, Madame. I am her only child, and--she taught me long ago that in any peril one is never quite alone."
Domini's heart warmed to him. She loved this trust in God so frankly shown by a soldier, member of an African regiment, in this wild land.
She loved this brave reliance on the unseen in the midst of the terror of the seen. Before they spoke again Androvsky crossed the dark space between the tents and came slowly into the circle of the lamplight.
De Trevignac got up from his chair, and Domini introduced the two men.
As they bowed each shot a swift glance at the other. Then Androvsky looked down, and two vertical lines appeared on his high forehead above his eyebrows. They gave to his face a sudden look of acute distress. De Trevignac thanked him for his proffered hospitality with the ease of a man of the world, assuming that the kind invitation to him and to his men came from the husband as well as from the wife.
When he had finished speaking, Androvsky, without looking up, said, in a voice that sounded to Domini new, as if he had deliberately assumed it:
"I am glad, Monsieur. We found gazelle, and so I hope--I hope you will have a fairly good dinner."
The words could scarcely have been more ordinary, but the way in which they were uttered was so strange, sounded indeed so forced, and so unnatural, that both De Trevignac and Domini looked at the speaker in surprise. There was a pause. Then Batouch and Ouardi came in with the soup.
"Come!" Domini said. "Let us begin. Monsieur de Trevignac, will you sit here on my right?"
