“If you don’t mind!”
He gave an order in Arabic. One of the servants slipped away and returned almost immediately.
“Now we can go,” the Count said. “They have vanished.”
The priest sighed. It was evident that the music had moved him too. As they got up he said:
“Yes, there was beauty in that song and something more. Some of these desert poets can teach us to think.”
“A dangerous lesson, perhaps,” said the Count. “What do you say, Monsieur Androvsky?”
Androvsky was on his feet. His eyes were turned toward the door through which the sound of the music had come.
“I!” he answered. “I—Monsieur, I am afraid that to me this music means very little. I cannot judge of it.”
“But the words?” asked the Count with a certain pressure.
“They do not seem to me to suggest much more than the music.”