Androvsky was looking angry. He stepped out into the road. Bous-Bous, who was now observing Nature at the priest's garden gate, emerged with some sprightliness and trotted towards him, evidently with the intention of making his acquaintance. Coming up to him the little dog raised his head and uttered a short bark, at the same time wagging his tail in a kindly, though not effusive manner. Androvsky looked down, bent quickly and patted him, as only a man really fond of animals and accustomed to them knows how to pat. Bous-Bous was openly gratified.
He began to wriggle affectionately. The priest in his garden smiled.
Androvsky had not seen him and went on playing with the dog, who now made preparations to lie down on his curly back in the road in the hope of being tickled, a process he was an amateur of. Still smiling, and with a friendly look on his face, the priest came out of his garden and approached the playmates.
"Good morning, M'sieur," he said politely, raising his hat. "I see you like dogs."
Androvsky lifted himself up, leaving Bous-Bous in a prayerful attitude, his paws raised devoutly towards the heavens. When he saw that it was the priest who had addressed him his face changed, hardened to grimness, and his lips trembled slightly.
"That's my little dog," the priest continued in a gentle voice. "He has evidently taken a great fancy to you."
Batouch was watching Androvsky under the arcade, and noted the sudden change in his expression and his whole bearing.
"I--I did not know he was your dog, Monsieur, or I should not have interfered with him," said Androvsky.
Bous-Bous jumped up against his leg. He pushed the little dog rather roughly away and stepped back to the arcade. The priest looked puzzled and slightly hurt. At this moment the soft thud of horse's hoofs was audible on the road and Domini came cantering back to the hotel. Her eyes were sparkling, her face was radiant. She bowed to the priest and reined up before the hotel door, where Androvsky was standing.
"I'll buy him," she said to Batouch, who swelled with satisfaction at the thought of his commission. "And I'll go for a long ride now--out into the desert."
"You will not go alone, Madame?"
It was the priest's voice. She smiled down at him gaily.
"Should I be carried off by nomads, Monsieur?"
"It would not be safe for a lady, believe me."
Batouch swept forward to reassure the priest. "I am Madame's guide. I have a horse ready saddled to accompany Madame. I have sent for it already, M'sieur."
One of the little Arab boys was indeed visible running with all his might towards the Rue Berthe. Domini's face suddenly clouded. The presence of the guide would take all the edge off her pleasure, and in the short gallop she had just had she had savoured its keenness. She was alive with desire to be happy.
"I don't need you, Batouch," she said.
But the poet was inexorable, backed up by the priest.
"It is my duty to accompany Madame. I am responsible for her safety."
"Indeed, you cannot go into the desert alone," said the priest.
Domini glanced at Androvsky, who was standing silently under the arcade, a little withdrawn, looking uncomfortable and self-conscious.
She remembered her thought on the tower of the dice-thrower, and of how the presence of the stranger had seemed to double her pleasure then. Up the road from the Rue Berthe came the noise of a galloping horse. The shoeblack was returning furiously, his bare legs sticking out on either side of a fiery light chestnut with a streaming mane and tail.
"Monsieur Androvsky," she said.
He started.
"Madame?"
"Will you come with me for a ride into the desert?"
His face was flooded with scarlet, and he came a step forward, looking up at her.
"I!" he said with an accent of infinite surprise.
"Yes. Will you?"
The chestnut thundered up and was pulled sharply back on its haunches.
Androvsky shot a sideways glance at it and hesitated. Domini thought he was going to refuse and wished she had not asked him, wished it passionately.
"Never mind," she said, almost brutally in her vexation at what she had done.
"Batouch!"
The poet was about to spring upon the horse when Androvsky caught him by the arm.
"I will go," he said.
Batouch looked vicious. "But Monsieur told me he did not----"
He stopped. The hand on his arm had given him a wrench that made him feel as if his flesh were caught between steel pincers. Androvsky came up to the chestnut.
"Oh, it's an Arab saddle," said Domini.
"It does not matter, Madame."
His face was stern.
"Are you accustomed to them?"
"It makes no difference."
He took hold of the rein and put his foot in the high stirrup, but so awkwardly that he kicked the horse in the side. It plunged.
"Take care!" said Domini.
Androvsky hung on, and climbed somehow into the saddle, coming down in it heavily, with a thud. The horse, now thoroughly startled, plunged furiously and lashed out with its hind legs. Androvsky was thrown forward against the high red peak of the saddle with his hands on the animal's neck. There was a struggle. He tugged at the rein violently.
The horse jumped back, reared, plunged sideways as if about to bolt.
Androvsky was shot off and fell on his right shoulder heavily. Batouch caught the horse while Androvsky got up. He was white with dust. There was even dust on his face and in his short hair. He looked passionate.
"You see," Batouch began, speaking to Domini, "that Monsieur cannot--"
"Give me the rein!" said Androvsky.
