"Madame!" said Batouch.
"Yes."
"Do you see the Arab dressed in green?"
He spoke in an almost awestruck voice.
"Yes. Who is he?"
"The great marabout who lives at Beni-Hassan."
The name struck upon Domini's ear with a strange familiarity.
"But that's where Count Anteoni went when he rode away from Beni-Mora that morning."
"Yes, Madame."
"Is it far from Amara?"
"Two hours' ride across the desert."
"But then Count Anteoni may be near us. After he left he wrote to me and gave me his address at the marabout's house."
"If he is still with the marabout, Madame."
They were close to the fountain now, and the marabout and his companion were coming straight towards them.
"If Madame will allow me I will salute the marabout," said Batouch.
"Certainly."
He sprang off his horse immediately, tied it up to the railing of the fountain, and went respectfully towards the approaching potentate to kiss his hand. Domini saw the marabout stop and Batouch bend down, then lift himself up and suddenly move back as if in surprise. The Arab who was with the marabout seemed also surprised. He held out his hand to Batouch, who took it, kissed it, then kissed his own hand, and turning, pointed towards Domini. The Arab spoke a word to the marabout, then left him, and came rapidly forward to the fountain. As he drew close to her she saw a face browned by the sun, a very small, pointed beard, a pair of intensely bright eyes surrounded by wrinkles.
These eyes held her. It seemed to her that she knew them, that she had often looked into them and seen their changing expressions. Suddenly she exclaimed:
"Count Anteoni!"
"Yes, it is I!"
He held out his hand and clasped hers.
"So you have started upon your desert journey," he added, looking closely at her, as he had often looked in the garden.
"Yes."
"And as I ventured to advise--that last time, do you remember?"
She recollected his words.
"No," she replied, and there was a warmth of joy, almost of pride, in her voice. "I am not alone."
Count Anteoni was standing with one hand on her horse's neck. As she spoke, his hand dropped down.
"I have been away from Beni-Hassan," he said slowly. "The marabout and I have been travelling in the south and only returned yesterday. I have heard no news for a long time from Beni-Mora, but I know. You are Madame Androvsky."
"Yes," she answered; "I am Madame Androvsky."
There was a silence between them. In it she heard the dripping water in the fountain. At last Count Anteoni spoke again.
"It was written," he said quietly. "It was written in the sand."
She thought of the sand-diviner and was silent. An oppression of spirit had suddenly come upon her. It seemed to her connected with something physical, something obscure, unusual, such as she had never felt before. It was, she thought, as if her body at that moment became more alive than it had ever been, and as if that increase of life within her gave to her a peculiar uneasiness. She was startled. She even felt alarmed, as at the faint approach of something strange, of something that was going to alter her life. She did not know at all what it was. For the moment a sense of confusion and of pain beset her, and she was scarcely aware with whom she was, or where. The sensation passed and she recovered herself and met Count Anteoni's eyes quietly.
"Yes," she answered; "all that has happened to me here in Africa was written in the sand and in fire."
"You are thinking of the sun."
"Yes."
"I--where are you living?"
"Close by on the sand-hill beyond the city wall."
"Where you can see the fires lit at night and hear the sound of the music of Africa?"
"Yes."
"As he said."
"Yes, as he said."
Again the overwhelming sense of some strange and formidable approach came over her, but this time she fought it resolutely.
"Will you come and see me?" she said.
She had meant to say "us," but did not say it.
"If you will allow me."
"When?"
"I--" she heard the odd, upward grating in his voice which she remembered so well. "May I come now if you are riding to the tents?"
"Please do."
"I will explain to the marabout and follow you."
"But the way? Shall Batouch--?"
"No, it is not necessary."
She rode away. When she reached the camp she found that Androvsky had not yet returned, and she was glad. She wanted to talk to Count Anteoni alone. Within a few minutes she saw him coming towards the tent. His beard and his Arab dress so altered him that at a short distance she could not recognise him, could only guess that it was he.
But directly he was near, and she saw his eyes, she forgot that he was altered, and felt that she was with her kind and whimsical host of the garden.
"My husband is in the city," she said.
"Yes."
"With the priest."
She saw an expression of surprise flit over Count Anteoni's face. It went away instantly.
"Pere Beret," he said. "He is a cheerful creature and very good to the Arabs."
They sat down just inside the shadow of the tent before the door, and he looked out quietly towards the city.
"Yes, this is the place," he said.
She knew that he was alluding to the vision of the sand-diviner, and said so.
"Did you believe at the time that what he said would come true?" she asked.
"How could I? Am I a child?"
He spoke with gentle irony, but she felt he was playing with her.
"Cannot a man believe such things?"
He did not answer her, but said:
"My fate has come to pass. Do you not care to know what it is?"
"Yes, do tell me."
She spoke earnestly. She felt a change in him, a great change which as yet she did not understand fully. It was as if he had been a man in doubt and was now a man no longer in doubt, as if he had arrived at some goal and was more at peace with himself than he had been.
"I have become a Mohammedan," he said simply.
"A Mohammedan!"
She repeated the words as a person repeats words in surprise, but her voice did not sound surprised.
"You wonder?" he asked.
After a moment she answered:
"No. I never thought of such a thing, but I am not surprised. Now you have told me it seems to explain you, much that I noticed in you, wondered about in you."
She looked at him steadily, but without curiosity.
"I feel that you are happy now."