Just at first fatigue was heavy upon him, but the hot soup, the first glass of wine revived him. When Domini, full of her secret obstinacy, began to talk gaily he was soon able easily to take his part, and to join her in her effort to include Androvsky in the conversation. The cheerful noise of the camp came to them from without.
“I’m afraid my men are lifting up their voices rather loudly,” said De Trevignac.
“We like it,” said Domini. “Don’t we, Boris?”
There was a long peal of laughter from the distance. As it died away Batouch’s peculiar guttural chuckle, which had something negroid in it, was audible, prolonging itself in a loneliness that spoke his pertinacious sense of humour.
“Certainly,” said Androvsky, still in the same strained and unnatural voice which had surprised Domini when she introduced the two men. “We are accustomed to gaiety round the camp fire.”
“You are making a long stay in the desert, Monsieur?” asked De Trevignac.
“I hope so, Monsieur. It depends on my—it depends on Madame Androvsky.”
“Why didn’t he say ‘my wife’?” thought De Trevignac. And again he searched his memory. “Had he ever met this man? If so, where?”
“I should like to stay in the desert for ever,” Domini said quickly, with a long look at her husband.
“I should not, Madame,” De Trevignac said.