It died away into the night, and the night wind rose again.
Mrs. Armine got up from her knees. Her hands were trembling no longer. She no longer wished to go.
"Arrange some of those cushions for me, Baroudi," she said. "I am tired after my ride."
He had not moved from where he had been standing when she came in, but she noticed that his long pipe had dropped from his hand and was lying on the carpet.
"Where shall I put them?" he asked, gravely.
She pointed to the side of the tent which was nearest to the smaller tent.
"Against the silk, two or three cushions. Then I can lean back. That will do."
She unbuttoned her fur jacket.
"Help me!" she said.
He drew it gently off. She sat down, and pulled off her gloves. She arranged the cushions with care behind her back. Her manner was that of a woman who meant to stay where she was for a long time. She was listening intently to hear the music again, but her face did not show that she was making any effort. Her self was restored to her, and her self was a woman who in a certain world, a world where women crudely, and sometimes quite openly, battle with other women for men, had for a long time resolutely, successfully, even cruelly, held her own.