"There is nothing to tell, Thérèse."
"You don't trust me?"
"Do you think that, really?"
In the tent where Azrael served them their meal, under the ceiling of Turkish red with its Arabic characters in clear white, Julia and Madame de la Maine sat while their coffee was served them by a Syrian servant.
"A girl does not come into the Sahara and watch like a sentinel, does not suffer as you have suffered, ma chère, without there being something to tell."
"It is true," said Miss Redmond, "and would you be with me, Thérèse, if I did not trust you? And what do you want me to tell?" she added naively.
The comtesse laughed.
"Vous êtes charmante, Julia!"
"I met Monsieur de Sabron," said Julia slowly, "not many months ago in Palestine. I saw him several times, and then he went away."
"And then?" urged Madame de la Maine eagerly.