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the oasis of Beni…Mora men； who had slowly roused themselves to pray；
sank down to sleep again in the warm twilight of shrouded gardens or
the warm night of windowless rooms。
In the garden of Count Anteoni Larbi's flute was silent。
〃It is like noon in a mirage；〃 Domini said softly。
Count Anteoni nodded。
〃I feel as if I were looking at myself a long way off；〃 she added。 〃As
if I saw myself as I saw the grey sea and the islands on the way to
Sidi…Zerzour。 What magic there is here。 And I can't get accustomed to
it。 Each day I wonder at it more and find it more inexplicable。 It
almost frightens me。〃
〃You could be frightened？〃
〃Not easily by outside thingsit least I hope not。〃
〃But what then？〃
〃I scarcely know。 Sometimes I think all the outside things； which do
what are called the violent deeds in life； are tame； and timid； and
ridiculously impotent in comparison with the things we can't see；
which do the deeds we can't describe。〃
〃In the mirage of this land you begin to see the exterior life as a
mirage？ You are learning； you are learning。〃
There was a creeping sound of something that was almost impish in his
voice。
〃Are you a secret agent？〃 Domini asked him。
〃Of whom； Madame？〃
She was silent。 She seemed to be considering。 He watched her with
curiosity in his bright eyes。
〃Of the desert；〃 she answered at length； quite seriously。
〃A secret agent has always a definite object。 What is mine？〃
〃How can I know？ How can I tell what the desert desires？〃
〃Already you personify it！〃
The network of wrinkles showed itself in his brown face as he smiled；
surely with triumph。
〃I think I did that from the first；〃 she answered gravely。 〃I know I
did。〃
〃And what sort of personage does the desert seem to you？〃
〃You ask me a great many questions to…day。〃
〃Mirage questions； perhaps。 Forgive me。 Let us listen to the question
or is it the demand？of the desert in this noontide hour； the
greatest hour of all the twenty…four in such a land as this。〃
They were silent again； watching the noon； listening to it； feeling
it； as they had been silent when the Mueddin's nasal voice rose in the
call to prayer。
Count Anteoni stood in the sunshine by the low white parapet of the
garden。 Domini sat on a low chair in the shadow cast by a great
jamelon tree。 At her feet was a bush of vivid scarlet geraniums；
against which her white linen dress looked curiously blanched。 There
was a half…drowsy； yet imaginative light in her gipsy eyes； and her
motionless figure； her quiet hands； covered with white gloves； lying
loosely in her lap； looked attentive and yet languid； as if some spell
began to bind her but had not completed its work of stilling all the
pulses of life that throbbed within her。 And in truth there was a
spell upon her； the spell of the golden noon。 By turns she gave
herself to it consciously； then consciously strove to deny herself to
its subtle summons。 And each time she tried to withdraw it seemed to
her that the spell was a little stronger； her power a little weaker。
Then her lips curved in a smile that was neither joyous nor sad； that
was perhaps rather part perplexed and part expectant。
After a minute of this silence Count Anteoni drew back from the sun
and sat down in a chair beside Domini。 He took out his watch。
〃Twenty…five minutes；〃 he said； 〃and my guests will be here。〃
〃Guests！〃 she said with an accent of surprise。
〃I invited the priest to make an even number。〃
〃Oh！〃
〃You don't dislike him？〃
〃I like him。 I respect him。〃
〃But I'm afraid you aren't pleased？〃
Domini looked him straight in the face。
〃Why did you invite Father Roubier？〃 she said。
〃Isn't four better than three？〃
〃You don't want to tell me。〃
〃I am a little malicious。 You have divined it； so why should I not
acknowledge it？ I asked Father Roubier because I wished to see the man
of prayer with the man who fled from prayer。〃
〃Mussulman prayer；〃 she said quickly。
〃Prayer；〃 he said。
His voice was peculiarly harsh at that moment。 It grated like an
instrument on a rough surface。 Domini knew that secretly he was
standing up for the Arab faith； that her last words had seemed to
strike against the religion of the people whom he loved with an odd；
concealed passion whose fire she began to feel at moments as she grew
to know him better。
It was plain from their manner to each other that their former slight
acquaintance had moved towards something like a pleasant friendship。
Domini looked as if she were no longer a wonder…stricken sight…seer in
this marvellous garden of the sun； but as if she had become familiar
with it。 Yet her wonder was not gone。 It was only different。 There was
less sheer amazement； more affection in it。 As she had said； she had
not become accustomed to the magic of Africa。 Its strangeness； its
contrasts still startled and moved her。 But she began to feel as if
she belonged to Beni…Mora； as if Beni…Mora would perhaps miss her a
little if she went away。
Ten days had passed since the ride to Sidi…Zerzourdays rather like a
dream to Domini。
What she had sought in coming to Beni…Mora she was surely finding。 Her
act was bringing forth its fruit。 She had put a gulf； in which rolled
the sea； between the land of the old life and the land in which at
least the new life was to begin。 The completeness of the severance had
acted upon her like a blow that does not stun； but wakens。 The days
went like a dream； but in the dream there was the stir of birth。 Her
lassitude was permanently gone。 There had been no returning after the
first hours of excitement。 The frost that had numbed her senses had
utterly melted away。 Who could be frost…bound in this land of fire？
She had longed for peace and she was surely finding it； but it was a
peace without stagnation。 Hope dwelt in it； and expectancy； vague but
persistent。 As to forgetfulness； sometimes she woke from the dream and
was almost dazed； almost ashamed to think how much she was forgetting；
and how quickly。 Her European life and friendssome of them intimate
and closewere like a far…off cloud on the horizon； flying still
farther before a steady wind that set from her to it。 Soon it would
disappear； would be as if it had never been。 Now and then； with a sort
of fierce obstinacy； she tried to stay the flight she had desired； and
desired still。 She said to herself； 〃I will remember。 It's
contemptible to forget like this。 It's weak to be able to。〃 Then she
looked at the mountains or the desert； at two Arabs playing the
ladies' game under the shadow of a cafe wall； or at a girl in dusty
orange filling a goatskin pitcher at a well beneath a palm tree； and
she succumbed to the lulling influence； smiling as they smile who hear
the gentle ripple of the waters of Lethe。
She heard them perhaps most clearly when she wandered in Count
Anteoni's garden。 He had made her free of it in their first interview。
She had ventured to take him at his word； knowing that if he repented
she would divine it。 He had made her feel that he had not repented。
Sometimes she did not see him as she threaded the sandy alleys between
the little rills； hearing the distant song of Larbi