She was silent, looking towards the trees where the Diviner had disappeared. Count Anteoni’s boyish merriment had faded away. He looked grave, almost sad.
“I am not afraid,” she said at last. “No, but—I will confess it—there is something horrible about that man to me. I felt it the first time I saw him. His eyes are too intelligent. They look diseased with intelligence.”
“Let me send him away. Smain!”
But she stopped him. Directly he made the suggestion she felt that she must know more of this man.
“No. Let us go to the fumoir.”
“Very well. Go, Smain!”
Smain went into the little tent by the gate, sat down on his haunches and began to smell at a sprig of orange blossoms. Domini and the Count walked into the darkness of the trees.
“What is his name?” she asked.
“Aloui.”
“Aloui.”