“I—I gave myself to God as a monk,” he answered after a pause.
As he spoke Domini saw before her in the moonlight De Trevignac. He cast a glance of horror at the tent, bent over her, made the sign of the Cross, and vanished. In his place stood Father Roubier, his eyes shining, his hand upraised, warning her against Androvsky. Then he, too, vanished, and she seemed to see Count Anteoni dressed as an Arab and muttering words of the Koran.
“Domini!”
“Domini, did you hear me? Domini! Domini!”
She felt his hands on her wrists.
“You are the Trappist!” she said quietly, “of whom the priest told me. You are the monk from the Monastery of El-Largani who disappeared after twenty years.”
“Yes,” he said, “I am he.”
“What made you tell me? What made you tell me?”
There was agony now in her voice.
“You asked me to speak, but it was not that. Do you remember last night when I said that God must bless you? You answered, ‘He has blessed me. He has given me you, your love, your truth.’ It is that which makes me speak. You have had my love, not my truth. Now take my truth. I’ve kept it from you. Now I’ll give it you. It’s black, but I’ll give it you. Domini! Domini! Hate me to-night, but in your hatred believe that I never loved you as I love you now.”