the garden of allah-第99章

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sunlight　streamed；　three　palm　trees；　and　a　second　door　which　was　shut。
Above　this　second　door　was　written：

〃/Les　dames　n'entrent　pas　ici。/〃

As　she　looked　the　figure　of　a　very　old　monk　with　a　long　white　beard
shuffled　slowly　across　the　patch　of　sunlight　and　disappeared。

The　coachman　turned　round。

〃You　descend　here；〃　he　said　in　a　cheerful　voice。　〃Madame　will　be
entertained　in　the　parlour　on　the　right　of　the　first　door；　but
Monsieur　can　go　on　to　the　/hotellerie/。　It's　over　there。〃

He　pointed　with　his　whip　and　turned　his　back　to　them　again。

Domini　sat　quite　still。　Her　lips　moved；　once　more　repeating　the　words
of　/The　Imitation/。　Androvsky　got　up　from　his　seat；　stepped　heavily
out　of　the　carriage；　and　stood　beside　it。　The　coachman　was　busy
lighting　a　long　cigar。　Androvsky　leaned　forward　towards　Domini　with
his　arms　on　the　carriage　and　looked　at　her　with　tearless　eyes。

〃Domini；〃　at　last　he　whispered。　〃Domini！〃

Then　she　turned　to　him；　bent　towards　him；　put　her　hands　on　his
shoulders　and　looked　into　his　face　for　a　long　time；　as　if　she　were
trying　to　see　it　now　for　all　the　years　that　were　perhaps　to　come。　Her
eyes；　too；　were　tearless。

At　last　she　leaned　down　and　touched　his　forehead　with　her　lips。

She　said　nothing。　Her　hands　dropped　from　his　shoulders；　she　turned
away　and　her　lips　moved　once　more。

Then　Androvsky　moved　slowly　in　through　the　doorway　of　the　monastery；
crossed　the　patch　of　sunlight；　lifted　his　hand　and　rang　the　bell　at
the　second　door。

〃Drive　back　to　Tunis；　please。〃

〃Madame！〃　said　the　coachman。

〃Drive　back　to　Tunis。〃

〃Madame　is　not　going　to　enter！　But　Monsieur〃

〃Drive　back　to　Tunis！〃

Something　in　the　voice　that　spoke　to　him　startled　the　coachman。　He
hesitated　a　moment；　staring　at　Domini　from　his　seat；　then；　with　a
muttered　curse；　he　turned　his　horses'　heads　and　plied　the　whip
ferociously。

*　　　*　　　*　　　*　　　*　　　*

〃Love　watcheth。　and　sleeping；　slumbereth　not。　When　weary　it　is　not
tired。　When　wearyitis　nottired。〃

Domini's　lips　ceased　to　move。　She　could　not　speak　any　more。　She　could
not　even　pray　without　words。

Yet；　in　that　moment；　she　did　not　feel　alone。



CHAPTER　XXXI

In　the　garden　of　Count　Anteoni；　which　has　now　passed　into　other　hands；
a　little　boy　may　often　be　seen　playing。　He　is　gay；　as　children　are；
and　sometimes　he　is　naughty　and；　as　if　out　of　sheer　wantonness；　he
destroys　the　pyramids　of　sand　erected　by　the　Arab　gardeners　upon　the
narrow　paths　between　the　hills；　or　tears　off　the　petals　of　the
geraniums　and　scatters　them　to　the　breezes　that　whisper　among　the
trees。　But　when　Larbi's　flute　calls　to　him　he　runs　to　hear。　He　sits　at
the　feet　of　that　persistent　lover；　and　watches　the　big　fingers
fluttering　at　the　holes　of　the　reed；　and　his　small　face　becomes
earnest　and　dreamy；　as　if　it　looked　on　far…off　things；　or　watched　the
pale　pageant　of　the　mirages　rising　mysteriously　out　of　the　sunlit
spaces　of　the　sands　to　fade　again；　leaving　no　trace　behind。

Only　one　other　song　he　loves　more　than　the　twittering　tune　of　Larbi。

Sometimes；　when　twilight　is　falling　over　the　Sahara；　his　mother　calls
him　to　her；　to　the　white　wall　where　she　is　sitting　beneath　a　jamelon
tree。

〃Listen；　Boris！〃　she　whispers。

The　little　boy　climbs　up　on　her　knee；　leans　his　face　against　her
breast　and　obeys。　An　Arab　is　passing　below　on　the　desert　track；
singing　to　himself　as　he　goes　towards　his　home　in　the　oasis：

　〃No　one　but　God　and　I
　　Knows　what　is　in　my　heart。〃

He　is　singing　the　song　of　the　freed　negroes。　When　his　voice　has　died
away　the　mother　puts　the　little　boy　down。　It　is　bed　time；　and　Smain　is
there　to　lead　him　to　the　white　villa；　where　he　will　sleep　dreamlessly
till　morning。

But　the　mother　stays　alone　by　the　wall　till　the　night　falls　and　the
desert　is　hidden。

　〃No　one　but　God　and　I
　　Knows　what　is　in　my　heart。〃

She　whispers　the　words　to　herself。　The　cool　wind　of　the　night　blows
over　the　vast　spaces　of　the　Sahara　and　touches　her　cheek；　reminding
her　of　the　wind　that；　at　Arba；　carried　fire　towards　her　as　she　sat
before　the　tent；　reminding　her　of　her　glorious　days　of　liberty；　of　the
passion　that　came　to　her　soul　like　fire　in　the　desert。

But　she　does　not　rebel。

For　always；　when　night　falls；　she　sees　the　form　of　a　man　praying　who
once　fled　from　prayer　in　the　desert；　she　sees　a　wanderer　who　at　last
has　reached　his　home。










End