“Bous-Bous wants me,” he said, and he opened the door for Domini to pass out.
A small white and yellow dog, very clean and well brushed, was sitting on the step in an attentive attitude. Directly the priest appeared it began to wag its short tail violently and to run round his feet, curving its body into semi-circles. He bent down and patted it.
“My little companion, Madame,” he said. “He was not with me yesterday, as he was being washed.”
Then he took off his hat and walked towards his house, accompanied by Bous-Bous, who had suddenly assumed an air of conscious majesty, as of one born to preside over the fate of an important personage.
Domini stood for a moment under the palm trees looking after them. There was a steady shining in her eyes.
“Madame is a Catholic too?” asked Batouch, staring steadily at her.
Domini nodded. She did not want to discuss religion with an Arab minor poet just then.
“Take me to the market,” she said, mindful of her secret resolve to get rid of her companion as soon as possible.
They set out across the gardens.
It was a celestial day. All the clear, untempered light of the world seemed to have made its home in Beni-Mora. Yet the heat was not excessive, for the glorious strength of the sun was robbed of its terror, its possible brutality, by the bright and feathery dryness and coolness of the airs. She stepped out briskly. Her body seemed suddenly to become years younger, full of elasticity and radiant strength.