Hamza said nothing, only made her a sign to follow him.
But she stood still.
"Baroudi!" she said.
"Go with Hamza," he said, in French.
And she went, without another word, past the girl, and out of the room.
Hamza, with a sign, told her to go in front of him. She went slowly down the passage, into the first saloon. There she hesitated, looked back. Hamza signed to her to go on. She passed under the Loulia's motto—for the last time. On the sailors' deck she paused.
The small felucca of the Loulia was alongside. Hamza took her by the arm. Although his hand was small and delicate, it seemed to her then a thing of iron that could not be resisted. She got into the boat. Where was she going to be taken? It occurred to her now that perhaps Baroudi had some plan, that he did not choose to keep her on board, that he had a house at Luxor, or—
The Villa Nuit d'Or! Was Hamza going to take her there in the night?
Hamza sat down, took the oars, pushed off.
Yes, he was rowing up stream against the tide! A wild hope sprang up in her. The Loulia diminished. Always Hamza was rowing against the tide, but she noticed that the felucca was drifting out into the middle of the Nile. The current was very strong. They were making little or no headway. She longed to seize an oar, to help the boat up stream. Now the eastern bank of the river grew more distinct, looming out of the darkness. It seemed to be approaching them, coming stealthily nearer and nearer. She saw the lights in the Villa Androud.