"What shall I do to-night?"
Alone in the now empty /salle-a-manger/ Domini asked herself the question. She was restless, terribly restless in mind, and wanted distraction. The idea of going to her room, of reading, even of sitting quietly in the verandah, was intolerable to her. She longed for action, swiftness, excitement, the help of outside things, of that exterior life which she had told Count Anteoni she had begun to see as a mirage. Had she been in a city she would have gone to a theatre to witness some tremendous drama, or to hear some passionate or terrible opera. Beni-Mora might have been a place of many and strange tragedies, would be no doubt again, but it offered at this moment little to satisfy her mood. The dances of the Cafes Maures, the songs of the smokers of the keef, the long histories of the story-tellers between the lighted candles--she wanted none of these, and, for a moment, she wished she were in London, Paris, any great capital that spent itself to suit the changing moods of men. With a sigh she got up and went out to the Arcade. Batouch joined her immediately.
"What can I do to-night, Batouch?" she said.
"There are the femmes mauresques," he began.
"No, no."
"Would Madame like to hear the story-teller?"
"No. I should not understand him."
"I can explain to Madame."
"No."
She stepped out into the road.
"There will be a moon to-night, won't there?" she said, looking up at the starry sky.
"Yes, Madame, later."
"What time will it rise?"
"Between nine and ten."
She stood in the road, thinking. It had occurred to her that she had never seen moonrise in the desert.
"And now it is"--she looked at her watch--"only eight."
"Does Madame wish to see the moon come up pouring upon the palms--"
"Don't talk so much, Batouch," she said brusquely.
To-night the easy and luscious imaginings of the poet worried her like the cry of a mosquito. His presence even disturbed her. Yet what could she do without him? After a pause she said:
"Can one go into the desert at night?"
"On foot, Madame? It would be dangerous. One cannot tell what may be in the desert by night."
These words made her long to go. They had a charm, a violence perhaps, of the unknown.
"One might ride," she said. "Why not? Who could hurt us if we were mounted and armed?"
"Madame is brave as the panther in the forests of the Djurdjurah."
"And you, Batouch? Aren't you brave?"
"Madame, I am afraid of nothing." He did not say it boastfully, like Hadj, but calmly, almost loftily.
"Well, we are neither of us afraid. Let us ride out on the Tombouctou road and see the moon rise. I'll go and put on my habit."
"Madame should take her revolver."
"Of course. Bring the horses round at nine."
When she had put on her habit it was only a few minutes after eight.
She longed to be in the saddle, going at full speed up the long, white road between the palms. Physical movement was necessary to her, and she began to pace up and down the verandah quickly. She wished she had ordered the horses at once, or that she could do something definite to fill up the time till they came. As she turned at the end of the verandah she saw a white form approaching her; when it drew near she recognised Hadj, looking self-conscious and mischievous, but a little triumphant too. At this moment she was glad to see him. He received her congratulations on his recovery and approaching marriage with a sort of skittish gaiety, but she soon discovered that he had come with a money-making reason. Having seen his cousin safely off the premises, it had evidently occurred to him to turn an honest penny. And pennies were now specially needful to him in view of married life.
"Does Madame wish to see something strange and wonderful to-night?" he asked, after a moment, looking at her sideways out of the corners of his wicked eyes, which, as Domini could see, were swift to read character and mood.
"I am going out riding."
He looked astonished.
"In the night?"
"Yes. Batouch has gone to fetch the horses."
Hadj's face became a mask of sulkiness.
"If Madame goes out with Batouch she will be killed. There are robbers in the desert, and Batouch is afraid of--"
"Could we see the strange and wonderful thing in an hour?" she interrupted.
The gay and skittish expression returned instantly to his face.
"Yes, Madame."
"What is it?"
He shook his head and made an artful gesture with his hand in the air.
"Madame shall see."
His long eyes were full of mystery, and he moved towards the staircase.
"Come, Madame."
Domini laughed and followed him. She felt as if she were playing a game, yet her curiosity was roused. They went softly down and slipped out of the hotel like children fearing to be caught.
"Batouch will be angry. There will be white foam on his lips," whispered Hadj, dropping his chin and chuckling low in his throat.
"This way, Madame."
He led her quickly across the gardens to the Rue Berthe, and down a number of small streets, till they reached a white house before which, on a hump, three palm trees grew from one trunk. Beyond was waste ground, and further away a stretch of sand and low dunes lost in the darkness of the, as yet, moonless night. Domini looked at the house and at Hadj, and wondered if it would be foolish to enter.
"What is it?" she asked again.
But he only replied, "Madame will see!" and struck his flat hand upon the door. It was opened a little way, and a broad face covered with little humps and dents showed, the thick lips parted and muttering quickly. Then the face was withdrawn, the door opened wider, and Hadj beckoned to Domini to go in. After a moment's hesitation she did so, and found herself in a small interior court, with a tiled floor, pillars, and high up a gallery of carved wood, from which, doubtless, dwelling-rooms opened. In the court, upon cushions, were seated four vacant-looking men, with bare arms and legs and long matted hair, before a brazier, from which rose a sharply pungent perfume. Two of these men were very young, with pale, ascetic faces and weary eyes.
