“I’ll buy him,” she said to Batouch, who swelled with satisfaction at the thought of his commission. “And I’ll go for a long ride now—out into the desert.”
“You will not go alone, Madame?”
It was the priest’s voice. She smiled down at him gaily.
“Should I be carried off by nomads, Monsieur?”
“It would not be safe for a lady, believe me.”
Batouch swept forward to reassure the priest. “I am Madame’s guide. I have a horse ready saddled to accompany Madame. I have sent for it already, M’sieur.”
One of the little Arab boys was indeed visible running with all his might towards the Rue Berthe. Domini’s face suddenly clouded. The presence of the guide would take all the edge off her pleasure, and in the short gallop she had just had she had savoured its keenness. She was alive with desire to be happy.
“I don’t need you, Batouch,” she said.
But the poet was inexorable, backed up by the priest.
“It is my duty to accompany Madame. I am responsible for her safety.”