And then he took his leave. This time he did not extend his hand to Androvsky, but only bowed to him, lifting his white helmet. As he went away in the sun with Bous-Bous the three he had left followed him with their eyes. For Androvsky had turned his chair sideways, as if involuntarily.
“I shall learn to love Father Roubier,” Domini said.
Androvsky moved his seat round again till his back was to the garden, and placed his broad hands palm downward on his knees.
“Yes?” said the Count.
“He is so transparently good, and he bears his great disappointment so beautifully.”
“What great disappointment?”
“He longed to become a monk.”
Androvsky got up from his seat and walked back to the garden doorway. His restless demeanour and lowering expression destroyed all sense of calm and leisure. Count Anteoni looked after him, and then at Domini, with a sort of playful surprise. He was going to speak, but before the words came Smain appeared, carrying reverently a large envelope covered with Arab writing.
“Will you excuse me for a moment?” the Count said.
“Of course.”