“I assure you, Monsieur, that I am accustomed to heat. I have lived in North Africa all my life.”
“Indeed. And yet by your appearance I should certainly suppose that you needed a change from the desert. The air of the Sahara is magnificent, but there are people—”
“I am not one of them,” Androvsky said abruptly. “I have never felt so strong physically as since I have lived in the sand.”
The priest still looked at him closely, but said nothing further on the subject of health. Indeed, almost immediately his attention was distracted by the apparition of Ouardi bearing dishes from the cook’s tent.
“I am afraid I have called at a very unorthodox time,” he remarked, looking at his watch; “but the fact is that here in Amara we—”
“I hope you will stay to dejeuner,” Androvsky said.
“It is very good of you. If you are certain that I shall not put you out.”
“Please stay.”
“I will, then, with pleasure.”
He moved his lips expectantly, as if only a sense of politeness prevented him from smacking them. Androvsky went towards the sleeping-tent, where Domini, who had been into the city, was washing her hands.