“Indeed, you cannot go into the desert alone,” said the priest.
Domini glanced at Androvsky, who was standing silently under the arcade, a little withdrawn, looking uncomfortable and self-conscious. She remembered her thought on the tower of the dice-thrower, and of how the presence of the stranger had seemed to double her pleasure then. Up the road from the Rue Berthe came the noise of a galloping horse. The shoeblack was returning furiously, his bare legs sticking out on either side of a fiery light chestnut with a streaming mane and tail.
“Monsieur Androvsky,” she said.
He started.
“Madame?”
“Will you come with me for a ride into the desert?”
His face was flooded with scarlet, and he came a step forward, looking up at her.
“I!” he said with an accent of infinite surprise.
“Yes. Will you?”
The chestnut thundered up and was pulled sharply back on its haunches. Androvsky shot a sideways glance at it and hesitated. Domini thought he was going to refuse and wished she had not asked him, wished it passionately.