“Do you hear my pensioners?” said the Count. “They are always impatient.”
There was the noise of a tomtom and of a whining shriek.
“That is old Bel Cassem’s announcement of his presence. He has been living on me for years, the old ruffian, ever since his right eye was gouged out by his rival in the affections of the Marechale of the dancing-girls. Smain!”
He blew his silver whistle. Instantly Smain came out of the villa carrying a money-bag. The Count took it and weighed it in his hand, looking at Domini with the joyous expression still upon his face.
“Have you ever made a thank-offering?” he said.
“No.”
“That tells me something. Well, to-day I wish to make a thank-offering to the desert.”
“What has it done for you?”
“Who knows? Who knows?”
He laughed aloud, almost like a boy. Androvsky glanced at him with a sort of wondering envy.