“Mademoiselle will have no difficulty in getting to Mass. She will not be obliged to go among all the Arabs.”
Domini smiled.
“I have come here to be among the Arabs, Suzanne.”
“The porter of the omnibus tells me they are dirty and very dangerous. They carry knives, and their clothes are full of fleas.”
“You will feel quite differently about them in the morning. Don’t forget about dinner.”
“I will speak about it at once, Mademoiselle.”
Suzanne disappeared, walking as one who suspects an ambush.
After dinner Domini went again to the verandah. She found Batouch there. He had now folded a snow-white turban round his head, and looked like a young high priest of some ornate religion. He suggested that Domini should come out with him to visit the Rue des Ouled Nails and see the strange dances of the Sahara. But she declined.
“Not to-night, Batouch. I must go to bed. I haven’t slept for two nights.”
“But I do not sleep, Madame. In the night I compose verses. My brain is alive. My heart is on fire.”