“Three hundred kilometers on horseback. I start to-morrow.”
She looked up at him with a new interest. He saw it and laughed, almost like a boy.
“Ah, your contempt for me is dying!”
“How can you speak of contempt?”
“But you were full of it.” He turned to Androvsky. “Miss Enfilden thought I could not sit a horse, Monsieur, unlike you. Forgive me for saying that you are almost more dare-devil than the Arabs themselves. I saw you the other day set your stallion at the bank of the river bed. I did not think any horse could have done it, but you knew better.”
“I did not know at all,” said Androvsky. “I had not ridden for over twenty years until that day.”
He spoke with a blunt determination which made Domini remember their recent conversation on truth-telling.
“Dio mio!” said the Count, slowly, and looking at him with undisguised wonder. “You must have a will and a frame of iron.”
“I am pretty strong.”
He spoke rather roughly. Since the Count had joined them Domini noticed that Androvsky had become a different man. Once more he was on the defensive. The Count did not seem to notice it. Perhaps he was too radiant.